HANDBOUND
AT THE
UNIVERSITY OF
TORONTO PRESS
LIVES
OF
ILLUSTEIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN,
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER,
AMD EMBODYING A
HISTORY OF IRELAND IN THE LIVES OF IRISHMEN,
EDITED BV
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.B.I.A.,
Author of Letters cm tLe Philosophy of Unbelief, &c., &c., fcc.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS.
VOL. VI.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A. FULLABTON AND CO, .
1847,
Dfl
, 4
EDINBURGH:
FCLLARTON AND CO., PRINTERS, LE1TH WALK.
CONTENTS OF VOL. VI.
FIFTH PERIOD,
i. — POLITICAL SERIES — continued.
PAGE
1. John Philpot Curran,
2. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, . 26
3. Sir Laurence Parsons, Earl of
Rosse, ... 37
4. George, Count de Browne, . 40
5. Lord Edward Fitzgerald, . 40
6. Samuel Neilson, . . 55
7. Doctor MacNevin, . . 64
8. Thomas Addis Emmet, . 65
9. Robert Emmet, . . 68
10. Arthur Wolfe, Lord Viscount
Kilwarden, ... 79
11. Dr. Patrick Duigenan, . 81
12. Right Hon. George Ponsonby, 89
13. Sir Hercules Langrishe, Bart., 90
14. Sir Philip Francis, . . 91
15. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, . 96
16. Francis, Marquis of Hastings, ' 113
17. George Canning, . . 116
18. George Tierney, . . 122
19. Richard, Earl of Donoughmore, 124
20. Robert, Marquis of London-
derry, . . . . 125
21. Major-Gen. Sir R. R. Gillespie, 131
II. ECCLESIASTICAL SEEIES.
22. Edward Maurice, Bishop of
Ossory, . . . 145
23. Philip Skelton, . . 145
24. Rev. Dr. Leland, . . 147
25. Sir Walter Blake Kirwan, 150
26. Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dro-
more, . . . . 154
27. Matthew Young, Bishop of
Clonfert, . . . 158
28. Rev. William Hamilton, . 161
29. Dr. Hugh Hamilton, Bishop of
* Ossory, . . . 162
30. Rev. Arthur O'Leary, . 163
31. Rev. Samuel Madden, D.D., 164
III. LITERARY SERIES
32. Oliver Goldsmith, . . 167
33. Charles Macklin, . . 203
34. Spanger Barry, . . 205
35. Laurence Sterne, . . 205
36. Kane O'Hara, ... 207
37. Sylvester O'Halloran, . 208
38. Arthur O'Neill, . . 208
39. James Cavanagh Murphy, . ' 208
40. Sir Richard Musgrave, . 208
41. Rev. Archibald Maclaine, . 209
42. Charles MacCormick, . 209
43. David MacBride, . . 209
44. Elizabeth Hamilton, . 209
45. John Jar vis, . . . 211
46. Robert Jephson, . . 211
47. Charles Johnson, . . 211
48. Henry Jones, . . . 211
49. Arthur Murphy, . . 212
50. Edmund Malone, . . 212
51. William Halliday, . . 213
52. Joseph Black, ... . 213
53. Thomas Dermody, . . 216
54. Samuel Derrick, . . 218
55. Richard Lovel Edgeworth, 218
56. Richard Kirwan, . . 224
57. Mary Tighe, . . . 224
58. James Barrv, . . 225
IV
CONTENTS.
SIXTH PERIOD.
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION, .
I. POLITICAL SEEIES.
59. Sir William Cusack Smith,
Bart., ....
60. Richard, Marquis Wellesley,
61. Charles Keridal Bushe,
62. Right Honourable William
Saurin,
63. John Sidney Taylor,
II. ECCLESIASTICAL SEEIES.
67. John Jebb, Bishop of Limerick, 425
PAGE | 68. Dr. John Barrett, .
9 | 69. Rev. Richard Graves, D.D.,
70. Rev. Cesar Otway, .
71. Bartholomew Lloyd, D. D.,
Provost,
257
264
281
328
347
72. Rev. Charles Robert Maturin,
437
442
446
449
452
73. Rev. C. Dickenson, D. D.,
Bishop of Meath, . . 456
74. Thomas Lewis O'Beirne, D.D, 460
75. John Thomas Troy, D.D.,
76. Thomas Elrington,
Bishop of Ferns,
D.D.,
461
463
64. William Magee, D.D., Arch-
bishop of Dublin, . . 353
65. Rev. Charles Wolfe, . 409
66. Rev. William Phelan, 418
III. - LITERAEY SEEIES.
77. Edward Hill, Regius Professor
of Medicine, . . 471
78. Whitley Stokes, S. F. Reg.
Prof. Med., . . 473
fub. "by Maarrea or. Poison,. & C?
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LIVES
OF
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN.
Outran*
IORN A. D. 1750. — DIED A. D. 1817-
JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN was born in the summer of 1750, his father,
Mr James Curran, was the seneschal of a manor court at Newmarket,
in the county of Cork. His mother's maiden name was Philpot, the
descendant of a respectable family of that name. She is represented
as a person of superior endowments and attainments, and her distin-
guished son, perhaps justly, traced from her the talents he possessed.
With more certainty, he attributed his subsequent success in life, to
her early influence.
From the estimate early formed of his capacity, he was committed
to the tuition of the Rev. Nathaniel Boyse, the clergyman of the
parish. From the manner in which this circumstance is mentioned
by Mr Curran's biographer, and referred to by himself, it is to be in-
ferred that Mr Boyse's care and instruction were gratuitously bestow-
ed from kindness and the high opinion he had conceived of the youth.
His rapid progress seems to have justified this kindness, and induced
his parents to determine upon his receiving a college education. His
first destination was the church.
After a time, he was removed to the free school of Middleton, and
his expenses were supplied wholly, or in part, at the sacrifice of £10 a
year, by Mr Boyse.
In 1769> he entered as a sizar in the university of Dublin — an
honourable test of his proficiency — as from the number of the sizars
being limited, his admission was the result of a successful and most
probably a severe competition.
In the university, his studies were principally devoted to classical
literature, and in this too, hi$ assiduity was rewarded and proved by
the scholarship which he attained. His progress and attainments are
not unfairly to be estimated from his having commenced reading for
the fellowship.
During this period of his life, the progress of his mind is in some
VOL. VI. A
2 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU
degree traceable by many of his letters, which have been fortunately
preserved and interwoven with the narrative of his life, written by his
son. Our object, and the restricted scale of our memoirs, will not
permit us to avail ourselves of these, unless when they chance to be
strictly coincident with the line of our narrative. It is observable
that though the earliest of them indicate the usual activity of youthful
sentiment, the language is far more free from the vices and manner-
ism of style, than we should have anticipated.
When he had entered his second year in college, an incident occur-
red which manifested his command of the resources of wit and reason,
so as to elicit the applause of his fellow-students, and awaken his ambi-
tion. In consequence of fcthis, it is said he changed his determination
of entering the church, for the bar. He had obtained the reputation
of wit, accompanied with its not unusual concomitants — wildness and
extravagance. He was seldom missing in the youthful freak, for
which, until the last generation, the students of " old Trinity," were
renowned. He was, it may be inferred, often in perplexity and often
in want of money, but he bore all with steady courage and unshaken
good humour.
He is represented by his biographer, as having been much addicted
to metaphysical inquiries and disputations, and to have frequently con-
versed on the nature of death, eternity, and the immortality of the soul ;
topics, which are the first to offer themselves to the curiosity of youth-
ful speculation, before the mind has learned the narrowness of its
range and the vastitude and obscurity of such subjects.
There are preserved also some specimens of his power of composi-
tion in verse, from the same period. They indicate very considerable
command of versification, an easy and not inelegant turn of language,
and a tendency to wit; in a word, a talent for the prompt and playful
style of the vers de societe, but not, even the slightest indication of
any poetic power beyond metre and rhyme. The verses to W.
Apjohn, we should pronounce, generally, superior to most effusions of
the same nature which he afterwards produced, for the truth, point,
and ease of the satire.
Having finished his academic studies, Mr Curran proceeded in
1773, to serve his terms in the Middle Temple. From London, his
letters give a tolerable account of his feelings and occupations. We
must here be satisfied with a single incident. He was in the custom
of frequenting a debating society, in which, though he felt the native
impulse, he could not muster the nerve for a trial of his own powers
of speech; he was in some measure discouraged by a ''precipitation
and confusion of utterance," (perhaps the result of eagerness which is
apt to outrun the tongue), which had among his schoolfellows obtained
for him the soubriquet of " stuttering Jack Curran." Such was the
amount of this defect, that he was advised to devote himself to the
silent duties of the chamber counsel. Mr Curran must of course have
felt the consciousness, which never fafls to accompany a power so
strenuous and kindling as that of the orator; he felt what no one else
could perceive so well, where his difficulty lay, and determined to over-
come it. His first attempt was, as may well be supposed, a failure.
He stood up filled with nervous anxieties, and more apprehensive of
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN.
tlie eyes and ears of which he became the centre, than of the topics of
the debate ; and thus pre-occupied, the mind refused its office, he got
no further than " Mr Chairman ;" his friends cried hear him, but as
he has told the story, " there was nothing to hear." After this un-
toward incident, some time elapsed before he could again summon
up courage for a second trial. A more auspicious moment at last
arrived. It was under the happy influence of a remittance from New-
market, and an additional glass of punch, that he repaired with his
friend Apjohu to the " devils," where there was already an orator on
his legs, "just such a person," according to Mr Curran's own descrip-
tion, " as Harry Flood would have called ' the highly gifted gentle-
man with the dirty cravat and greasy pantaloons!' I found this
learned personage in the act of calumniating chronology by the most
preposterous anachronisms, &c., &c. ' He descanted on Demosthe-
nes the glory of the Roman forum; spoke of Tully as the famous con-
temporary and rival of Cicero ; and in the short space of half an hour
transported the straits of Marathon three several times to the plains
of Thermopylae. Thinking I had a right to know something of these
matters, I looked at him with surprise; and whether it was the money
in my pocket, or my classical chivalry, or most probably, the supple-
mental tumbler of punch, that gave my face a smirk of saucy confi-
dence, when our eyes met there was something like a wager of battle
in mine; upon which the erudite gentleman instantly changed his
invective against antiquity into an invective against me, and concluded
by a few words of friendly counsel to ' orator Mum,' who he doubted
not, possessed wonderful talents for eloquence, although he would re-
commend him to show it off in future by some more popular method
than his silence." Mr Curran followed the seasonable advice, for
which he repaid his adviser, the " dirty cravated orator, in such a sort,
that it was agreed by most persons present, that they never * saw him
so well dressed.' " So deckled was his success, that the president dis-
patched his secretary to invite the " eloquent stranger" to sup with
him. After this seemingly trivial, but perhaps really important inci-
dent, Mr Curran became a regular speaker at debating clubs, where he
acquired the fluency, and what is more important — the confidence,
which in public speaking is more than half the battle. It is mentioned
by his biographer,* that from his zeal in the cause of the Roman
Catholics, and from his dress, he was supposed to be a young priest of
that church, and in the club at which he most usually attended, was
called " the little Jesuit from St Omers."
It appears from various sources, that very high anticipations of the
future success of Mr Curran, began to be soon entertained among his
friends, and a letter from Dr Creagh of Newmarket, afterwards his
father-in-law, gives some proof of the strong and just impression his
conversation and other manifestations of talent were capable of making.
We also learn that he was endeared, among the circle of his friends
* To prevent the necessity of references, we may here mention once for all,-
that this memoir is entirely written upon the authority of the " Life of Curran,
by his Son ;" that is, so far aa relates to the facts and incidents of the personal
history of its eminent subject.
4 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
and relations, by his affectionate and unassuming deportment among
them. That he was subject to intervals of despondency, and that his
circumstances were sometimes such as to warrant depression of spirits,
were there no other cause. We also learn, that among his friends,
there was at least one who was g'enerously desirous to impart assist-
ance. This was Mr Hudson the well-known dentist, his friend and
neighbour through the remainder of their lives.
Of his studies we are told, and of this there is indeed ample proof
in his practice, that his reading was extensive and assiduous. Hia
acquaintance with all the best . standard English writers, is clearly
ascertainable through most of his speeches, and formed, indeed, a most
important department of his mind. Though apparently of spare and
attenuated frame, he was patient of fatigue, and required but little
rest ; and being constitutionally alert, he was enabled to pursue his
studies with interest and constancy, while seemingly devoted to con-
vivial habits. Among those writers from whom he is supposed to
have derived his earliest notions of style, were Junius' Letters, and
lord Bolingbroke. The speech of Antony in Julius Caesar, was also
an incessant study, and he could pronounce it with great skill. Of
the classics, Virgil was his favourite, and next to him, Homer.
A peculiar source of his ideas, which might not be anticipated, and
without some reflection may not be well conceived, was his familiarity
with the language and manners of Irish low life. The deeply imagi-
native tinge of Irish nature infused through the language, and im-
bodied in the very ignorance of this antique race, could not fail to
impart much to a mind like that of Mr Curran, which, though not of
much compass or depth, was within its proper range endowed with
the keenest perceptions and nicest tact and sensibility. " He used,"
says his biographer, " to say himself, that he derived his first notions
of poetry and eloquence from the compositions of the hired women over
the dead." Perhaps, it may also be not too much to say, that his poli-
tical sympathies were in some measure kindled at the same source.
Mr Curran was called to the bar in 1775. His character went
before him, and he rapidly obtained employment; as a proof of this, it
is mentioned, that the "first year produced eighty-two guineas; the
second between one and two hundred ; and so on in a regularly increas-
ing proportion." The same nervousness which impeded his first effort
at oratory influenced his debut at the bar, and that in a manner much
more marked, and, we should presume, unusual. He had but to
" read a short sentence from his instructions, but he did it so precipi-
tately and inaudibly, that the chancellor, lord Lifford, requested of
him to repeat the words and to raise his voice." The brief "dropped
from his hands, and a friend who sat beside him was obliged to take
it up and read the necessary passage." On what precise occasion this
distressing affection was conquered, we are not informed; but his bio-
grapher mentions, in connexion with the foregoing anecdote, that it
disappeared when he had to repel unwarrantable attacks. One of
these occasions is mentioned, and said to have occurred very early.
On some statement of judge Robinson's, Mr Curran observed, " That
he had never met the law, as laid down by his lordship, in any book
in his library." " That may be, sir," said the judge; " but I suspect
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 5
that your library is very small." Mr Curran replied, " I find it more
instructive, my lord, to study good works than to compose bad ones ;
my books may be few, but the title pages give me the writers' names,
my shelf is not disgraced by any such rank absurdities that their very
authors are ashamed to own them." "Sir," said the judge, "you are
forgetting the respect which you owe to the dignity of the judicial
character," " Dignity !" exclaimed Mr Curran, " My lord, upon that
point I shall cite you a case from a book of some authority, with which
you are, perhaps, not unacquainted." He then briefly recited the story
of Strap in Roderic Random, who, having stripped off his coat to
fight, intrusted it to a bystander ; when the battle was over, and he
was well beaten, he turned to resume it, but the man had carried it
off; Mr Curran thus applied the tale : — " So, my lord, when the person
intrusted with the dignity of the judgment-seat, lays it aside for a
moment to enter into a disgraceful personal contest, it is in vain when
he has been worsted in the encounter, that he seeks to resume it — it
is in vain that he tries to shelter himself behind an authority which he
has abandoned." " If you say another word, Sir, I'll commit you,"
replied the angry judge, to which Mr C. retorted, " If your lordship
should do so, we shall both of us have the consolation of reflecting,
that I am not the worst thing your lordship has committed." We
have extracted this dialogue, as indicating the promptness of Mr Cur-
ran, and the bold spirit, which in those rude and disorderly times, were
a strong recommendation at the Irish bar. A contest so discreditable
could not now be likely to occur in the same scene.
Some years, nevertheless, occurred, before the real powers of Mr
Curran had a fair occasion for display. This occasion offered itself at
the Cork assizes, in an action brought by a priest of the church of
Rome, against lord Doneraile. The occasion was one of which the
circumstances are so wholly foreign to the spirit of our times, and so
unlikely ever to recur in times in which the upper classes of society
are so much more civilized, that it is unnecessary to go at length into
a story which can now convey no lesson. It is enough to say that Mr
Curran acted with humanity and spirit, and won for himself the enthu-
siastic attachment of the lower orders, who from that time looked upon
him as their champion. In the performance of his duty on this occasion,
he had to cross-examine Mr St Leger, brother to the defendant; and,
as it was his object to depreciate his evidence, he had described him
in very gross and insulting language in his speech. In doing so, he
had, however, not mentioned his name. When " Mr St Leger came
upon the table, and took the Testament in his hand, the plaintiff's coun-
sel, in a tone of affected respect, addressed him saying, ' Oh, Mr St
Leger, the jury will, I am sure, believe you without the ceremony of
swearing you; your character will justify us from insisting on your
oath.' The witness, deceived by this mild and complimentary language,
[his irritation evidently diverted his notice from the very palpable trap
that was laid for him,] replied with mingled surprise and irritation,
' I am happy, Sir, to see you have changed the opinion you entertained
of me when you were describing me a while ago.' ' What, Sir? then
you confess it was a description of yourself ! Gentlemen, act as you
(J POLITICAL SERIES, [FlFTI!
please; but I leave it to you to say, whether a thousand oaths could
bind the conscience of the man I have just described.' "
A duel followed, in which Mr Curran evinced very great intrepidity;
he was called upon to fire by his antagonist, to which he answered
with a pun, tolerably fair considering the occasion, " No, Sir, I am
here by your invitation, you must open the ball." And then, observ-
ing Mr St Leger's pistol, to be directed wide of him, with singular
promptitude he called out " fire." St Leger fired, and missed. This
was a well known manoouvre among duellists of that day. Mr Cur-
ran declined firing, and the affair terminated.
This incident contributed materially to the increase of Mr Curran's
practice. It had another effect, which we must state in the language
of his biographer: — "Jt was probably, too, with this event,* that
originated his great popularity among the lower orders of the Irish,
—a feeling which a little time matured into an unbounded veneration
for his capacity, combined with a most devoted attachment to his per-
son.' After some further sentences, Mr Curran proceeds, " His
genius and habits were so purely national, that the humblest of his
countrymen, forgetting the difference of rank in their very many com-
mon sympathies, fondly considered him as one of themselves, and
cherished his reputation not more as a debt of gratitude to him, than
as a kind of peculiar triumph of their own. These sentiments, which
he never descended to any artifices to cultivate, continued unimpaired
to his death, and will probably survive him many years."
We have long since adverted in this volume to the monks of the
order of St Patrick, founded by lord Avonmore, Mr Curran's closest
friend. It contained all those who were most eminent for wit and
popularity, and most indeed of the first public men of the time. Among
these Mr Curran was a principal member. One of the better, perhaps
the best of his poetical efforts, was the charter song of the order. Of
his pathetic allusion after a lapse of many years to the recollections
of this union, we have already taken notice in lord Avonmore's
memoir. We shall here add, that the passage in which it occurs,
has been censured as out of time and place, but that we think it to
be vindicated on sufficient grounds by his biographer. (Note. p. 128.)
Mr Curran had been seven years at the bar, when he was returned
as member for the borough of Kilbeggan, by the interest of Mr Long-
field, afterwards lord Longueville. Having disagreed with Mr Long-
field on political opinions, he shortly after insisted on purchasing a
seat to be filled on Mr L.'s nomination. It was about the same period
that he obtained his silk gown.
In 1785, Mr Curran had a quarrel with Mr Fitzgibbon, afterwards
lord Clare. The debate in which it occurred, arose out of a measure of
the latter gentleman, who was at the time attorney-general. While Mr
Curran was speaking, Mr Fitzgibbon slept, or more probably, pre-
tended to sleep, on which Mr Curran let fall some strong personalities,
which were retorted with equal violence, Mr Curran again replied;
* His biographer (we should say,) includes many incidents of a very popular
character, which we have omitted for want of space.
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 7
the consequence was a hostile meeting, after which they retained a
mutual enmity through life.
At this time Mr Curran had attained a full and lucrative practice
at the bar. His life passed in a round of duties and occupations which
demand no comment, and offer little of detail. The point of view in which
he always appears to most advantage, and in what we might call the
most genuine character, is in such of his letters as have been published.
These, and we regret it much, are wholly beyond our compass. A
visit which he paid to France in 1787, affords some pleasing speci-
mens ; he was a nice and discriminating observer of all that is char-
acteristic, and with his happy humour and power of language, never
fails to transport his reader to the scene. He possessed a peculiar
turn for practical wit, which occasionally gave rise to adventures
which could not be carried through by any one but himself. Of this
many curious instances are yet remembered, which we cannot here
venture to relate on the mere authority of oral tradition. An amusing
story, but far inferior to some we have heard, is told by his biographer
among the details of his visit to France. — Having received from his
friend Arthur O'Leary, an introduction to the superior of a convent
near some town he was to pass ; Mr Curran was received in
the most cordial and complimentary manner, with a Latin oration,
nud an offer of the keys. The Latin was so very bad, that he, without
hesitation responded in the same language ; he said " that nothing
could be more gratifying to him than to reside for a few days among
them; that he should feel himself perfectly at home in their society;
for that he was by no means a stranger to the habits of a monastic
life, being himself no less than the prior of an order in his own
country, the order of St Patrick, or the monks of the screw. Their
fame might never have reached the abbot's ears, but he would under-
take to assert for them, that though the brethren of other orders might
be more celebrated for learning how to die, the monks of the Screw
were as yet unequalled for knowing how to live. As however,
humility was their great tenet and uniform practice, he would give an
example of it on the present occasion, and instead of accepting all the
keys which the abbot had so liberally offered, would merely take
charge, while he staid, of the key of the wine cellar." A very droll
adventure is also related, on the occasion of his sitting at the opera
between an Irish lady whom he had accompanied thither, and a young
Frenchwoman. The ladies having manifested a mutual disposition
to converse, but being respectively unacquainted with each other's
language, Mr Curran volunteered his service as an interpreter. He
however so altered and adorned the conversation as it passed, with
witty and complimentary additions, that the ladies each began to
entertain a very flattering impression of the other, in the words of
his biographer, " he transmitted between the parties so many finely
turned compliments, and elegant repartees, that the unsuspecting
ladies became fascinated with each other," at length Mr Curran,
when he thought admiration had gained its height, "in conveying
some very innocent question from his countrywoman, converted it into
an anxious demand if she might be favoured with a kiss, ' Mais oui !
mon Dieu ! oui,' cried out the animated French girl, ' j'allois le pro-
8 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
poser moimeme,' and springing across Mr Curran, imprinted an em-
phatic salutation, according to the custom of her country, upon each
cheek of his fair companion ; and then turning to him added, ' O
vraiment, Monsieur, madame votre amie cst une veritable ange.' "
In 1788, Mr Curran made an excursion to Holland, of which as
usual his letters contain some graphic and interesting sketches.
Jn the following year, he took an active part in the Regency ques-
tion. It is mentioned that on this occasion he was offered to be raised
to the bench, and eventually to the peerage, on the condition of giving
his support to the administration. These offers he had the public
virtue to decline. His opposition was on the other hand marked by a
fresh degree of spirit and unsparing animosity, and he wielded his
favourite weapons of ridicule and illustrative exposure with so much
address, and preferred charges so plain and popular, that it is evident
he became very obnoxious to the Irish administration. Some time after,
upon a discussion in the house on the division of the Board of stamps
and accompts, he was replied to by Sir Boyle Roche, who concluded
with language conveying a clear menace of personal consequences. Mr
Curran made a spirited reply, which he concluded by saying, " as to
myself, while I live, I shall despise the peril ; I feel in my own spirit,
the safety of my honour, and in my own and the spirit of the people
do I feel strength enough to hold that administration, which can give
a sanction to menaces like these, responsible for their consequences to
the nation and to the individual." In a few days after he was in-
sulted by some person, Avho was, or was supposed to be, in the ser-
vice of the castle.* He applied to major Hobart to dismiss the
person; the major replied that he had no such power, and alleged
that the person was as much a stranger to him as to Mr Curran. A
correspondence followed and was terminated by a duel from which
neither party received any hurt. To enter into the merits of this
quarrel, would require a fuller statement than we have thought it ex-
pedient to offer.
Between Mr Curran and Mr Fitzgibbon, there grew up by degrees
a spirit of hostility which is easily accounted for, upon a full view of
their respective characters, without any imputation to either. The
moral as well as the intellectual features of their characters were
cast and combined in a mould of the extremest contrast. There are
* We believe this to have been Newell, a person notorious for his daring,
presumption, and perfidy, almost unparalleled. Having, by turns betrayed and
maligned all who put any trust in him. Both by nature and habit, incorrigibly
addicted to deceit — a liar, even when there was no object further than to fabri-
cate a story, he was incapable of stating the most ordinary fact, without a mixture
of falsehood. Having first betrayed the rebels, and included innocent with guilty
persons in his informations, he presumed upon the importance of his services,
when such services were unhappily of some moment, and having attempted to
beard his employers, he came speedily into contact with men of principle and
honour, and received mortifications and repulses, which he revenged by turning
again, and calumniating honourable men. Ilia calumnies were greedily re-
ceived, and propagated as history, by those who repelled with scorn his
disclosures respecting the rebels. lie ended his execrable career, by falling
into the hands of his former friends, by whom, there is reason to believe, he was
assassinated.
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 9
some strong reasons why we do not wish to delineate in detail, the
points of opposition ; of which the principal one alone needs mention,
as it is one of constant recurrence in our labours. Posterity has not
done equal justice to the men ; the faults of Mr Curran were more
popular than the very virtues of his enemy. The balance of an im-
partial comparison would involve a scrutinizing analysis, which we
should not desire to apply. We could not with any fairness consent
to the severe calumnies and misrepresentations which have darkened
the fame of the earl of Clare — nor even to record more honest
censure, without disturbing more than we could wish the wreath with
which affection and popular opinion have crowned the grave of his
antagonist. For this reason we shall pass very lightly over the history
of their disagreements. There grew up a hostility between them of
which we shall only say that we entirely disagree with the estimate
which is to be drawn from the statements of Mr Curran's biographer,
of the merits of their contention and in the constructions of their
actions. We see indeed, much to censure in the whole conduct to-
wards each other of both these eminent men.
To Mr Curran, a main consequence of this quarrel was that he lost
his practice in the court of chancery, which he rated at £1000 a-year.
His powers of advocacy were so pre-eminently fitted for the practice
of the law courts, that it is not easy to conceive how he could fail to
have his utmost powers of effort engaged. But this, we are aware,
does not meet the question of emolument.
From the period last mentioned to 1794, Mr Curran took a very
active part in the numerous important questions brought forward in
parliament. In these he took the popular side, and spoke and acted
with all the fearless honesty of his character. He stood by the side
of Mr Grattan, and yielded to none in zeal or popularity.
It would nevertheless, according to our estimate, be an injustice to
Mr Curran, to look upon him as a politician. So ranked, he would
take his place among many good and eminent men, whose names are
now beginning to be nearly lost upon the roll of celebrity. It is as a
rhetorician and an advocate that we are to put forward the claim of
one, who in these respects has perhaps never been excelled, and not
often equalled in modern times. In weighing the merits of his oratory,
a very remarkable oversight seems to have been committed by
critical writers, who, in reviewing his printed speeches, have neglected
those allowances which are always to be made for the advocate, from
the consideration of the actual circumstances under which he has to
address the jury or the court. We have already in our general intro-
duction to this period, given some account of the eloquence of the
last century and of its influencing causes. It will here be enough to
say, that there was at that time a taste for all that appealed to the
fancy and passions in oratory ; and that the pleader who had to address
a jury, best consulted the interests of his client by conforming in some
measure to their tastes. We do not indeed agree with the argument
which we have sometimes heard advanced, that the applause of an
assembly, or even the verdict of a jury, is any test of merit; this
remains to be tried on more strict grounds; we think it a full excuse
for much that has been severely censured by critics in Mr Curran's
10 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTU
addresses. And if the licence be once allowed, we are inclined to think
that where the censure has fallen to the ground, much high praise
will be found due to the singular promptitude of application, of argu-
ment, of sarcasm, retort, or pathetic and solemn appeal; in a word of
all the higher elements of rhetoric — with also the rich and overflowing
affluence of the stream of a poetic diction. These, whether he abused
them or not, belonged to Mr Curran. But it is indeed known, and
has been well insisted on that his seemingly most licentious deviations
from the staid and dry decorum of the forensic style, performed an im-
portant part; if judges or juries could be so impressed, it was fit so
to impress them. At least so it will always be considered by the
advocate.
His defence of Mr Rowan, addressed to any jury and in any time,
must be always admitted to be a noble piece of advocacy. He exalts
his subject and the occasion with every solemn and affecting consider-
ation which can impress the conscience or feelings of the jury in
favour of his client; and his manner and style were equal to his
matter. The power of allusion, was the master quality of Mr Curran's
mind — on light occasions it probably furnished the better part of his
wit, while on serious ones it played a more important part. His most
powerful passages display a mastery of the best models, and of the most
effective passages of ancient and modern literature. His biographer
notices the striking resemblance of his opening sentence in the defence
of Mr Rowan to the opening of Cicero's defence of Milo. A more
remarkable and closer similarity occurs in the same speech, as the
much celebrated passage on emancipation is very nearly a paraphrase
of a well-known passage from Cowper's task.
" We have no slaves at home. Then why abroad ?
Arid they themselves once ferried on the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed.
Slaves cannot breath in England ; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free,
They touch our country and their shackles fall," &c., &c.
Task.
" I speak in the spirit of British law, which makes liberty commen-
surate with, and inseparable from British soil; which proclaims even to
the stranger and the sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon
British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and conse-
crated by the genius of universal emancipation," &c., &c. The entire
of these two splendid specimens, are much too long for quotation.
By referring to the originals, the curious reader will easily observe
the several mouldings which the same thoughts and images have re-
ceived from two minds of very different classes, each perhaps equally
expert, and each eminently a rhetorician in his own art. Mr Curran's
speeches afford much matter for similar observation. The masterly
allusion to the golden image and the spirit walking through the furnace
is (in the sense of our observations,) another instance of Mr Curran's
surprising range of command over the varied expanse of literature,
Scripture he had evidently studied as a favourite classic, and uniformly
drew from it his happiest touches of allusion and most graceful lan-
guage. If it may be said with truth, that there is no indication of
PERIOD.] JOIiN FHILrOT CURRAN. 11
much merely intellectual compass or depth about Mr Curran, it will
by those who justly weigh his claims, not be considered as any deroga-
tion:— such was not his own pretension; it was not in any way
essential to his proper character. But in such an estimate, there is
probably a very considerable error of a kind not very fully understood:
if we admit that Mr Curran does not appear to have been endowed
with any of those broad and massive intellectual powers which
must be attributed to the higher classes of lawyers, economists, and
statesmen; we should add that he possessed powers as rare, and as pro-
found, when judged by a more impartial and philosophic estimate; his
depth was a moral depth. His world was that of the heart and of
human nature. The admiration of mankind is more honest than dis-
criminating; and injustice is often the result, because praise injudici-
ously bestowed, raises pretensions open to question: and question, too
often originating in hostility, seldom waits to do justice. Mr Cumin
was a consummate advocate — he possessed the powers of the actor,
the dramatist, the poet, and the moralist, all kindred faculties;
and if he is to be referred to a class; it will in principle, be the class
of Scott and Shakespere, not Adam Smith, Pitt, Fox, or Burke, though
Burke might be referred to every class.
We have been at some pains to express these views with more dis-
tinctness than many of our readers may think necessary, because
otherwise we might appear to take a slighting view of an eminent
man, of whose genius we have not formed the same precise estimate
with many of his admirers. We wish to have it understood, that in
valuing him differently we do not undervalue him intentionally, and
that though in common with others, we may have widely erred, yet
that there is no derogatory design in our statements.
We must now enter more at large into some details concerning
those unfortunate and guilty men whose trials took place in 1798> and
whose defence forms no little portion of Mr Curran's renown. Mr
Rowan's case we omit, because we propose to offer a brief memoir
of this gentleman further on.
The next state trial in which Mr Curran's efforts are recorded is
that of Mr William Jackson. He was a clergyman of the church of
England, a native of Ireland, but had for several years resided in
England in the family of the Duchess of Kingston, who is supposed to
have used his pen in her controversy with Foote. Having visited
France and embraced the principles of republicanism, he was
presently employed in the same cause with other Irishmen who from
perverted nationality or want of honesty were ready to lend themselves
to the designs of the enemy. He was sent over to Ireland to ascer-
tain the practicability of an invasion. We have already had to men-
tion the result. In London he met an old confidential friend to whom
he made certain communications, and engaged to some extent in his
correspondence. This person after a short time fearing to have gone
too far — revealed the circumstances to Mr Pitt. Mr Pitt availed
himself of so favourable an opportunity, and desired him to accompany
Mr Jackson to Ireland, — and by his means obtain further information
as to the state and progress of the conspiracy which seemed to be
thus indicated. Accordingly this person, whose name was Cockayne,
12 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH
obeyed, and soon made discoveries already familiar to the reader. Of
Mr Jackson's guilt there could of course be no doubt, and it was not
long before Cockayne gave information, and he was arrested and tried
on the charge of high treason.
As Mr Jackson had been held aloof from, by the exceeding caution
of the United Irishmen, he had not at the time come into connexion
with the leaders of this body — further than some meetings of a pro-
bationary nature with Tone. But the interest taken in his fate was
so great among that body, that four inferior members, associated to
save him by the assassination of Cockayne; a circumstance which
became known in the course of another trial.
Mr Jackson remained in 'prison a year, during which time he was
treated with great kindness and lenity by the government, and per-
mitted to enjoy the society of his friends. A circumstance is men-
tioned, during this time to have occurred, which is not only honour-
able to Mr Jackson, but which offers a strong case for the illustration
of the important moral theorem, that laxity of political or public prin-
ciple is not inconsistent with private integrity. One of his friends
had remained with him to a late hour, and he went to see him to the
outer door. The jailer was asleep and beside him lay the keys. Not
wishing to disturb him, Mr Jackson took the keys and let out his
friend. While thus engaged, the natural thought of escape flashed
upon him; he wavered for a moment — but the next brought up to his
mind the consequences to the jailer, who had on all occasions treated
him with kindness; the generous sense prevailed, he quietly laid down
the keys, and without awakening the friendly jailer, returned to his
apartment*
The terrible particulars of Mr Jackson's trial cannot we regret, be
here stated with the detail they merit. We abridge them from Mr
Curran's life, where they are given with dramatic effect.
Precautions had been taken against suicide, which were ridiculed
by the prisoner, who observed that " the man who feared not death,
could not wrant the means of dying, and that as long as his head was
within reach of the prison wall, he could prevent his body from being
suspended to scare the community.'*'
When on his way to the court to receive his sentence he wras
observed to be very sick. In the court he appeared in great disorder,
which was for a time ascribed to fear. This continued to increase
rapidly; he obeyed the directions of the court, with unnatural and
spasmodic efforts, which served to indicate an imperfect conscious-
ness ; the perspiration streamed down his face, and rose in clouds of
steam from his hair ; a general impression of astonishment and horror
spread through the court. " He beckoned his counsel to approach
him, and making an effort to squeeze him with his damp and nerve-
less hand, uttered in a whisper, and with a smile of most awful
triumph, the dying words of Pierre —
' We have deceived the senate.' "
Struck by these terrible indications, Clonmel was about to remand
him, when the attorney-general entered the court and called for judg-
* Dr M'Xeviii's Pieces of Irish History. Life of Curran.
PERIOD.] JOHN P'HILPOT CURltAN. 13
inent ; he was accordingly " set forward and displayed a horrible
spectacle; in a profuse perspiration, tottering, and his face convulsed
with a rapid succession of 'minute and irregular* spasms : his eyelids
weighed down with the gathering torpor, drooped upon his half
closed eyes on which the dim glare of approaching death was to be
seen. Still endeavouring to obey the orders of the court, and to
assume the appearance of firmness, he exhibited in a manner which
must have been awful to witness a frightful struggle between the
powers of life and death. In this condition, while vainly trying to
stand erect, he was asked the usual question of the law, " what he had
to say why judgment should not, &c." Mr Curran rose and interposed
some arguments in arrest of judgment. A long discussion took place
— during which the symptoms rapidly increased. The windows of
the court were thrown open, and the discussion went on. At last Mr
Jackson sunk in the dock. The conclusion is taken from the reported
trial, we copy it from Mr Curran's life, as follows.
Lord Clonmel. " If the prisoner is in a state of insensibility, it is
impossible that I can pronounce the judgment of the court upon him."
Mr Thomas Kinsley who was in the jury-box, said he would go
down to him ; he accordingly went into the dock, and in a short time
informed the court that the prisoner was certainly dying.
" By order of the court Mr Kinsley was sworn."
Lord Clonmel. — " Are you in any profession?"
Mr K. — " I am an apothecary."
Lord C. — " Can you speak with certainty of the state of the
prisoner ?''
Mr K — " I can ; I think him verging to eternity."
Lord C. — " Do you think him capable of hearing his judgment?"
Mr K — " I do not think he can."
Lord C — " Then he must be taken away, &c." While Lord C.
was giving directions, the sheriff informed the court that the prisoner
was dead. On which lord Clonmel rejoined, "let an inquisition and
a respectable one be held upon his body. You should carefully inquire
by what means he died." The court adjourned and the corpse re-
mained in the dock till next day — when upon the inquest a large quantity
of metallic poison was found in his stomach.
The most remarkable feature in this case, was the decision in oppo-
sition to the most ancient and established principles of criminal justice,
that in Ireland, one witness was sufficient to sustain the charge of high
treason. If such an anomaly could be justly or safely admitted, it would
have been in that time, and in Ireland, in which secrecy in treason had
attained a perfection in itself as strange and unprecedented. It would
perhaps be dangerous, on any consideration to tamper with the sanctity
of a principle of such universal and obvious importance: we abstain
therefore from some reflections suggested by the commentary of others.
One affirmation must be made, that we wholly deny the assertion that
any excessive severity can be fairly imputed to the administration of
criminal law in Ireland: but that on the other hand it was remarkably
mild. The contrary opinion, asserted by eminent and able men does no
credit to their candour or judgment; they were advocates and popu-
lar party men — and as such, may be excused for using the language
14 POLITICAL SERIES. FIFTH
of their party. But we cannot help thinking it strange, that their
descendants, biographers and admirers can be betrayed into the sober
historical assertion of such wholly unwarranted sentiments. The con-
duct of the administration, was mild, forbearing and equitable; and
if severity be at all a part of justice, it never was more called for than
at the time. We would not admit of an unconstitutional expedient;
but we quite concur in the assertion of the wise and good man who
was attorney-general then, that " it was rather necessary to strengthen
the crown against the popular crime, than to strengthen the criminal
against the crown." We have, indeed, made many statements in proof
of this proposition; and wo have not done with it yet. There can be
no reasonable doubt, that the law as it was supposed to have stood,
was in principle defective — nor was the contingent advantage sufficient
to compensate a deviation so wide from a principle which derives
something of its stability from the most ancient usage. The
fault was amended by special enactment, settling the rule that high
treason should require two witnesses for conviction.
Of the depravity of those miscreants, whose evidence was in that
dreadful and calamitous state of things resorted to, there can be no
doubt. It is one of the most deplorable conditions of secret conspiracy,
that resort must be had to such means; accident may be allowed
for: but accident apart, there is no way by which honest and trust-
worthy men can become privy to the deliberations and designs of artful
villany. The witness must either first have committed the crime, or
practised treacheries little less guilty and far more revolting. But
having made so much allowance we must add that there is no better
alternative; and that practically, no ill consequence of moment is
likely to arise in any court of justice worthy of consideration. In
all the trials of this time, and in all such trials, there were and must
be large allowances in favour of mercy, the real demerits of the
witnesses were rightly weighed and appreciated, neither the verdicts
of juries and judgments of courts were exclusively dependent on mere
asseveration; whatever may be the rule of legal practice, there is in all
cases a moral evidence arising from a certain range of facts and cir-
cumstances, which essentially governs the decisions of men. The
question is ultimately, as to the validity of a chain of proof, in which
the character of the witness and the probability of his statements as
well as their abstract value, must be weighed in the scale of the
nicest responsibility. In mere theory, it would indeed be easy to show
how the lives of innocent men might be placed in the hands of per-
jurers; we fear to be carried too far into disquisition; but we could
easily show that, unless the court itself be first depraved into an instru-
ment of cruelty, (as in the Spanish inquisition, the revolutionary tribu-
nals, or the courts of some old despotism) such cases are merely theo-
retical ; it would be easy to show that the counteractions, in a British
or Irish court of justice are too numerous and too stringent; and that if
anything must be admitted on the other side, it is merely so much as
must be allowed for the fallibility of all human judgment. One more
temark must be made. Subsequentproofshave in all instances confirmed
the judgments in these cases; and though such proof could have no
weight in justification of a \erdict; yet if duly considered it has much
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURR'AN. I")
in its application to the foregoing argument, as the question of proba-
bility is affected by the result of the comparison of instances; the
uniform result indicates the agency of the uniform process.
It has been said that the minds of the jurors were at that time
strongly influenced by a general panic, and also by that of the
informers, whose testimony they were called upon to reject. Of these
influences, the first had some existence, the second does not require
notice. The general fear of conspiracy did not mislead the juries;
but those who have made the remark, have failed to notice, that
a contrary influence of a much more urgent nature also prevailed.
The fear of a wide spread popular conspiracy to overawe the consci-
ences of juries, is ascertained by well-known and unquestionable facts:
should any one doubt it, we can only here say, that it is a very intel-
ligible consequence of any popular conspiracy, and especially in this
country. No one, for example, is ignorant of the extent to which
provincial juries are controlled by their fears, in the disturbances of
our own times. But neither then, or now, has there been any just
ground to impute any very considerable departure on either side from
their sworn duty, by the jurors in criminal causes. In the metropolis,
where they have always acted under a sense of adequate protection, it
may with confidence be affirmed that, at all times, juries have per-
formed their duties with courage and honesty; and there was in the
cases to which these remarks are applied, no substantial difficulty.
The considerations thus reviewed are in our judgment not required
for the purpose of explaining the peculiar resources of Mr Curran's
advocacy. So far as such explanations can be necessary, the main
causes were some of them of a nature opposite to those alleged. To
create those very impressions, under which he sometimes appeared to
labour ; and to excite some sense of the state of parties, and the con-
duct of persons which seemed to rouse his indignation, was an essen-
tial part of his duty as an advocate. He had in every one of those
celebrated cases, to contend against law, fact, and justice: this is an
important portion of his praise; an essential excuse for seeming de-
fects. But the unfortunate result has been, that the same dexterous
advocacy, which once failed to cloud the common-sense of a jury, or
to prevent the decisions of justice, has been used to pervert history
and to give a specious language to party.
If Mr Curran's style of appeal is to be apologized for, (we do not see
that it is necessary), it must be on different ground. It was justified
by the practice of his day; and it is not to be overlooked, that it was his
uniform style and adopted independently of the circumstances alleged.
In truth, the rules by which he has been rather severely criticised,
have been applied by a ludicrous complication of mistakes — the clear
oversight of all applicable considerations. Assuming (what must be
assumed by the pleader) that his cause is good; his clients, the jury,
and the court, were precisely in the position that is implied in all
those solemn and pathetic appeals; and such was the highly seasoned
style of logic, manner and language, demanded by the taste of the
time. We do not in this include the faults incidental to that style, of
these we shall take special notice.
The most remarkable in many respects of those trials was that of
16 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
Henry and John Sheares, whose fate is still recollected with in-
terest. This trial afforded one of the most memorable displays of
Mr Curran's eloquence, and of the peculiar energy with which he
threw his mind into the cause of his client. The trials of several of
the leaders of the conspiracy, who had been seized at Bond's, and of
Bond himself, followed. There is one_reason, why we may now pass
them slightly. As trials, they could not, from the circumstances, be
more than the necessary preservation of the form and instrumentality
of the law. The facts were too well ascertained and their character
too unambiguous, to leave room for any serious question. Mr Curran
discharged his duty with his usual talent and zeal, but though it was
his duty to endeavour to shake the character of the informer, he must
have been aware that the degree in which any point he could so gain
would bear on the whole proof of the guilt of his clients, was nearly
an infinitesimal, compared with the full evidence of circumstances. It
is no disparagement to Mr Curran — what is equally applicable to
every other criminal advocate — that if the doctrines he was often ac-
customed to state on the subject of testimony were adopted in practice
by juries, it would be impossible to establish a case of high treason
otherwise than by having recourse to proceedings of a nature wholly
different from the trial by jury. Happily, the ingenuity which it is on
those occasions the advocate's duty to employ, is in most cases wholly
inoperative with the plain common sense of a tribunal, of which it is
the merit, that in questions of fact, it is provided with the kind and
measure of intelligence which such questions require, unperplexed
by the rules of science. In making this assertion, we must take
leave to guard our meaning.
The doctrine of presumptions, is like sight and hearing, far easier
to apply than to analyze, and generally more correct in its intimations,
than any mere inferences of- theory. But it is in part for this reason,
and in part on account of the fallibility of all human judgments, that
the rules of legal science lean uniformly to caution, and are so con-
trived, as to favour mercy, rather than strict justice. Its intent is
not so much to aid the sagacity of the tribunal, as to control and
limit its exercise, on the merciful principle, that it is better that ten
guilty should escape, than one innocent person suffer. But as circum-
stantial evidence may amount to a degree, far beyond any demand of
justice, or even of mere allegation of witnesses, it would be ridiculously
absurd to suppose, that technical restrictions can limit the common
sense of a jury, to the extent which it may be the advocate's duty to
demand. Any rules by which Jackson, or the Sheares's, or Bond,
could have been acquitted, would have been inconsistent with the
sufficiency of the law. The purpose of those whose liberality would
relax the severity of criminal justice, under the circumstances then
existing, would be overshot — for the concession of their assumptions
would only tend to prove, that the law of the land is insufficient for
such occasions, and that times of danger and conspiracy would thus
demand some provision of a more prompt and decisive character. It
is a mistake to assume, that the conviction of these men rested on the
mere allegations of informers, or were in any degree decided by fears
or influences. The information of Reynolds, (to take an instance,)
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRA.N. 17
was essential to the arrest of certain persons, and to the steps by
which strong facts were clearly ascertained : but not in the least de-
gree necessary to ascertain with the utmost assurance of which the
human mind is capable, the truth of the charges. The testimony was
essential to satisfy the conditions of positive law. If a murder were
committed in the hall of the courts, and under the eye of justice — the
same formal and strict testimony would be required; and a clever ad-
vocate might use similar expedients to construct his defence. It is fit
and right it should be so — were it not, presumption might under
circumstances be sadly stretched. But in the cases Mr Curran had
to deal with, all was as clear as is consistent with the nature of human
concerns. The conspiracy was fully known to exist, and the men
were fully identified with the conspiracy. Reynolds was but an
essential form of Justice. We fully approve of the extension of mercy
in such cases, and do not here contend for strict justice to the shed-
ding of blood; we only repel certain statements, and deny the fitness
of allowing justice to be stultified by paltry technicalities, of which
the true intent is first dexterously put out of sight by the advocate,
and next totally set aside by the historian. The praise of Mr Curran
does not demand the assertion and defence of his bar arguments.
It may here be the best place to give some account of the two
brothers, John and Henry Sheares, whose unhappy fate alone
entitles them to historic recollection. Of these unfortunate gen-
tlemen, were there indeed any propriety in giving a very detailed
account, they are still sufficiently recollected by several persons, and
we have been made sufficiently familiar with their characters and pri-
vate history, to sketch them with some precision; but there is really
no reason for such a departure from our general rules of selection.
They are mentioned to have been members of the Irish bar; Henry
the elder brother possessed a competent fortune, had received a uni-
versity education, had no talents, but was much valued and loved in
the private relations of life. He has left the character of being weak,
credulous and yielding. Some traits of an opposite but not incon-
sistent kind, have been preserved among his acquaintances, he was proud,
ambitious, talkative, and ostentatious. His brother John was a man
of firmer intellectual mould : a simpler and sterner character, with fair
less vivacity, but with more tendency to enthusiasm. These brothers
were remarkable for their strict attachment to each other, and as usu-
ally happens, John possessed a strong ascendancy over both the con-
duct and opinions of his feebler brother. In 1 792, they had spent a
little time in Paris, where they contracted a republican taint, and in
consequence, when they came home, they fell into contact with the
United Irishmen. With their principles, they took up also the cant
about reform; under the cover of which, these principles were con-
cealed.* With these dispositions, they soon became objects of public
suspicion, and in a few instances, fell under the special notice of the
authorities, but were by a lenity, unfortunate perhaps for themselves,
connived at. When matters had arrived at the verge of insurrection,
they were soon drawn in to take an active part. Among the ex-
* Life of Wolfe Tone.
VOL. VI. B
18 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFlH
pedients resorted to by the conspiracy, for the furtherance of their
views, a very obvious preliminary, was the endeavour to seduce the
soldiery from their duty. In the army, there was in some degree, the
same diffusion of revolutionary opinion and sentiment, which then
prevailed among the lower classes; and it is evident, that there must
thus have been found abundant means of access to the soldiery,
through the agency of disaffected individuals. And such, according
to the construction which the whole of the facts taken together appear
to suggest — it was in the attempt to avail themselves of such an
instrumentality for the purpose of seduction, that the Messrs Sheares
became the dupes and victims of their own intrigues. Among the
troops quartered at Laughlinstown camp, there was a captain of the
name of Armstrong, who, though certainly not a United Irishman,
was, we presume, a person of unsettled principles on general ques-
tions of politics, and had fallen into the not unusual habit of talking
very loosely — an imputation not having much weight in that day.
But it was the means of exposing him to the proposals of those who
were on the watch for such indications; and it is to be observed, that
the conduct of the conspiracy had at that time begun to pass into
the hands of less experienced persons, and was carried on with less
tact and discretion, than had till then accompanied the conduct of the
united men. Captain Armstrong belonged to a regiment which was
supposed to be disaffected, and this offered an additional inducement
for the trial. It so happened that he was accustomed to resort occa-
sionally to the shop of a bookseller, Mr Byrne, who was evidently a
procurer for the purpose of rebellion. This person drawing his in-
ferences, both from the conversation (on books, political and re-
ligious) of Armstrong, and from the character of his regiment, took
the very obvious step of sounding his opinions; these, there is every
reason to believe, were of a free and loose complexion, and most pro-
bably had, in theory, a close affinity to those of Mr Byrne. It is at
least easy to see how this person might thus without any design
be led to consider Mr Armstrong as one fitted for his purpose : such,
at all events, was his conclusion. And it should be recollected by the
fair reader, that it does not follow from these incidents, that Mr
Armstrong actually held the notions which he is thus shown to have
expressed: every one who has conversed with the world, has often
met weak persons, who take the tone of their conversation entirely
from that which prevails among those whom they set up as models
for themselves — the vain, the light and daring. Deism, dissoluteness,
drunkenness, and disloyalty, formed at that time, no slight portion of
the character of the rakish fashion of the day, in the middle ranks of
Irish gentry. They deeply tainted the militia officers. The con-
sideration is here so far important, as we are inclined to think, that
too much stress has been laid on the fact, that Mr Armstrong had on
previous occasions, used very libertine expressions. There was an
impression made on Byrne, that Mr Armstrong was ready for the
proposals which, there can be no doubt, he was anxious to urge.
" Sir," said he, " I could wish a gentleman of your enlightened
principles, would allow me to introduce you to some gentlemen who
would be happy to cultivate your acquaintance— -I mean the Messrs
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 19
Sheares, men who are deeply engaged in the common cause; and as
you can render material services, you will be a valuable acquisition,
£c." Now, at this stage, various constructions will apply to the con-
duct of Armstrong, not one of which will go to affect his character as a
witness, though some of them would bear unfavourably on him as a man.
Some persons, when they perceive a shallow design, will humour it for
mere cajolery ; and it is also evident, that to a man of unrefined and
coarse mind — which does not involve dishonesty or untruth — the con-
duct of Byrne was adapted to suggest a counterplot, which was per-
fectly fair — but not precisely within the conventions acknowledged
by gentlemen. When it was proposed by Byrne to introduce Mr
Armstrong to two gentlemen of his own way of thinking; Armstrong,
of course, saw that he was to be subjected to a regular course of
seduction, and made instrumental to a certain purpose, and he probably
decided at once what to do. There was here indeed little choice
between one course, Avhich was rigidly right, and a crime of the basest
description ; it was his duty to expose such an attempt. He may have
lent himself too far to a false understanding, and if. so, we cannot
acquit him of the charge of meanness ; but he was also perhaps under
a very natural impression, which the history of the trial puts wholly
out of sight; and it is one which might carry a man very far: the
reader must recollect, that all the time he may have (or must have,)
perceived that he was himself the object of a crafty, perfidious, and
criminal game, and that he was deeply interested in outwitting and
defeating his insnarers. He had not, it ought to be remembered,
before his mind the tragic circumstances, which have lent a peculiar
interest to the fate of his seducers. Now, though it may be truly
said that no person of a high sense of honour will stoop to a contest in
craft, such as we are now supposing; it will not follow that a man
who will, is to be regarded as acting on meaner motives than those
of the multitude. The exercise of considerable artifice and even of
deception, unworthy as it is of the gentleman or the Christian, does
not disqualify as a witness in a court of justice. If it did, few indeed
could be admitted — a large class would be too evidently excluded.
The manner and circumstances must regulate the credence of the
man in such cases. If it be asserted that in the proceedings of Mr
Armstrong there was both duplicity and treachery; they were
employed in opposition to duplicity and treachery, with this differ-
ence, that on the side of Mr Armstrong the motives were clearly
those of duty, on that of the Sheareses of crime. We do not affirm
(or admit,) that there is any duty which in strictness can warrant
such conduct — we simply assert, that in the administration of justice,
character must be estimated according to the average morality of
human conduct, which is by no means very high. In poetry, in
moral writings, in the professed maxims of the world, a higher standard
prevails, drawn from a purer code ; and therefore, when the advocate
finds it expedient to depreciate character, it is very easy to turn the
pure and bright beams of moral truth upon the infirmities of another,
which his own could ill stand the test of. It is also to be observed,
in reference to this case and some others, in which Mr Curran was
employed — that the same considerations lead to the further stricture
20 POLITICAL SERIES. [FIFTH
on criminal advocates in general, that they carry their efforts to taint
the character of the witnesses for the prosecution, something beyond
what we can admit to be fair. Perhaps the best excuse for this may
be, that such dexterity is insufficient for the purpose for which it is
employed, and can seldom impose on the good sense of juries.
But to return to our narrative, Mr Armstrong, upon receiving the
proposal of Byrne, must have felt the intent of the proposal, and con-
cluded without any doubt as to the line which his duty imposed. Byrne
may in the first instance have acted without thought, and unadvisedly
made the concession usual in such cases: it would have needed some
firmness and presence of mind to refuse ; he had heedlesly talked him-
self into a false position. But having assented, it is still more apparent
that he must have felt himself committed to act in one way or other.
He might have retracted, this would have required explanation and
recantations, from which weak and mean men shrink. He pursued
the rigid line of duty, in communicating with his superior. It
appears that he received the directions usually given on all such occa-
sions; to lend himself to the arts employed for his corruption, and thus
enable the government through his means to trace them. Mr Arm-
strong acceded, and having been introduced to the brother conspirators,
he necessarily entered upon a course of proceedings of no very honour-
able character, and from a review of which we fully admit, we think
very lowly indeed of Mr Armstrong. We have so far dwelt with
more than usual minuteness on the preceding details, because the
different narrators of the same transaction, while they do not deny the
substantial truth of his allegations, appear to consider his character
a* a witness questionable, and that some discredit is thus reflected
on the prosecution. We think differently in both respects, and have
endeavoured to make apparent the grounds of our opinion.
It was past midnight when Mr Curran rose to address the jury in
the defence of Mr Henry Sheares; he was exhausted by the exertions
of a day spent in protracted endeavours to discredit the testimony of
the witness. He availed himself of the equivocal character of many
of the circumstances already mentioned, with a latitude fully conceded
to the advocate in such cases, with great felicity, and delivered one
of the most affecting speeches perhaps ever heard in a court of
justice, leaving no topic untouched which might affect the feelings,
conscience, or reason of the jury. As, however, the whole evidence
was such as to leave no doubt upon the case, his eloquence was vain
to save his unfortunate clients. From the circumstances which came
out on the trial, the credibility of Mr Armstrong seemed to be con-
siderably shaken;* but his evidence was too strongly supported by
facts and circumstances to admit of reasonable doubt. And the verdict
of guilty was followed by the sentence of the law.
* Some opinions held by Mr Armstrong, were proved by most credible witnesses,
and denied by him on oath. But his profession of such opinions may have
been false, and his oath true. Men of shallow understanding and loose lives have
often made a boast of infidel opinions, and assumed the character of freethinkers,
•without (in reality,) having any distinct opinions at all. And it is also not improb-
able that the idle boast of a random tongue, may be wholly forgotten by the
speaker.
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 21
The peculiarities of position and circumstance under which these
unfortunate gentlemen were thus placed, can have in them but little
more interest than must belong to that dreadful interval between the
condemnation of the criminal and its sad event. But incidental occur-
rences have withdrawn the gloomy veil which mostly conceals the terror
of the condemned cell, and a frightful as well as affecting glimpse is
given of the extremity of moral suffering in the person of Henry
Sheares. On the announcement of the verdict, the brothers clasped
each other in their arms. When brought up for judgment they each
addressed the court. Henry Sheares having a large family, attempted
to utter a request that he should have time allowed for the arrange-
ment of his affairs; at the mention of his family, his feelings over-
powered him, and he was unable to proceed. His brother John
addressed the court at some length. After vindicating himself
from the imputation of having inculcated sanguinary rules of conduct
among the rebels, — he proceeded with strong and pathetic earnestness
to implore that some respite should be allowed to Henry, to provide
for his unhappy wife and six children, and their aged mother. The
request was inadmissible, and the refusal, which was hardly less
pathetic than the request, was rendered painful to lord Carleton, by
circumstances which we shall state in his own words. " In the awful
duty imposed on me, no man can be more sensibly affected than I am,
because I knew the very valuable and respectable father and mother
from whom you are both descended. I knew and revered their
virtues. One of them, happily for himself, is now no more ; the other,
for whom I have the highest personal respect, probably by the events
of this day may be hastened into futurity," &c. His lordship's address
ended with the sentence of the law. And at the demand of the Attorney-
general, he ordered that it should be executed on the next day. John
Sheares prepared to meet his end with the natural firmness of his
character. A letter which he wrote to his sister the night before his
death, bears all the characters of strong affection for his family, and
a cairn and unshaken fortitude. The circumstances attendant upon
the other brother's death are more remarkable. We cannot fairly say
that Mr Henry Sheares was utterly devoid of the ordinary degree of
human courage, for the affections of our nature are variable, and the
changes of character dependant on circumstance are very extreme ;
the peculiar incidents belonging to this unfortunate gentleman's posi-
tion, were such as to shake the fortitude and soften the affections of
most men. When any cause induces a person to turn his back on
danger, however free from fear he may have been, fear is likely to be
a consequence. In Henry Sheares, the affectionate solicitude of his
friends heightened the love of life and the pain of parting — the strong
interest with which his fate was viewed imposed on his imagination;
the impression left on his mind by the defence of his advocate, the
sympathy of the judge, with minor incidents which we need not
mention, all contributed to raise illusory hopes, and his feelings
could not within the short interval allowed let go the hold of
life and turn composedly to his dreadful fate. Such we believe
were really the causes which operated to cast his mind into that
fearful struggle, which, however it may commence, may lead to the
22 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFlH
agony of terror. We have been tempted to regret that his letter
to Sir Jonah Barrington was preserved; it exhibits that awful
convulsion of spirit which the heart shrinks from, and which
one would wish concealed for the same reason that the features are
hidden in the last struggles of the scaffold. On receiving that letter,
Barrington hastened to lord Clare, who was deeply affected by it, and
advised Barrington to take the only step which remained, evidently
intending to co-operate. But he was not aware of the rapidity with
which the officials connected with justice were at the very same
moment rendering vain any such late efforts. Had Sir J. Barrington
received the letter but a few hours sooner, there is little room to doubt of
his success, as substantially it contained an offer which was precisely
conformable to the suggestion of lord Clare. "I will lie under any condi-
tions the government may choose to impose on me, if they will but -re-
store me to my family." The chancellor's suggestion was, " do you
think Henry can say anything, or make any species of discovery which
can authorize the lord lieutenant in making a distinction between
them?" The chancellor was fully desirous to save him: but for
reasons very plain and evident, he was anxious that the reprieve should
be accounted for in such a manner as to prevent the mischievous con-
sequences which it might otherwise produce at so critical a juncture.
Among those who lived in that time and were acquainted with Henry
Sheares, some excuses have been made for him ; we do not enter into
them here because they appear to us weak and inconclusive, and we
should be compelled to waste space in their analysis.
The trials connected with this period, in which Mr Curran was
successively engaged, remain some of them to be noticed hereafter ;
but so far as the orator or advocate merely is to be commemorated, we
have nothing material to add to the remarks hitherto made. Some of
the peculiarities of his oratory, we have traced to time and circum-
stance, some to the nature of the duty on which he was engaged: we
may add very generally, that in some of the praises of the admirers of
his speeches we do not coincide, and in like manner, that we strongly
disagree with the most unfair and uncandid as well as narrow and
mistaken attacks which have been made upon them in some \\ ell known
critical works. We must now add, that so far as we can extract any
fair notion of Mr Curran's political opinions from his conduct or public
speeches, they are so broadly at variance with every opinion which we
have endeavoured to maintain in these lives, that it would now be
superfluous to enter on the subject. Of his parliamentary speeches
few specimens remain; these, so far as we have seen them, rather
manifest a disposition to relieve and adorn the tediousriess of debate, or
perhaps to disconcert by wit those upon whom argument had failed,
than any very strong interest in or deep knowledge of the subject.
He could not indeed have much thought to spare for such discussions.
We also apprehend that his affections were too deeply cast and
coloured in the mould and tones of nationality to look with cold and
unbiassed reason on any of the great questions which then agitated the
heart of Ireland to its centre.
During the peace of 1802 he paid a short visit to Paris, when a nejv
chapter of political philosophy was opened to his keen observant mind,
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 23
and which we believe he attentively and profitably studied. His
speech in behalf of Kir wan in the rebellion of 1803, is elevated not
only by a sounder but stronger and more philosophic tone of principle
than anything preserved of his previous displays. Something of this
is due to a cause which, in fairness to Mr Curran, ought to be strongly
put forward. The criminal advocate has too often the disadvantage
of being induced (perhaps compelled,) to defend guilt by maintaining
false principles, and imposing false impressions, and this must after-
wards operate to lower the credit of his character as an orator. But
on the occasion now adverted to, he took hold of the occasion to
throw out many sound, forcible, and impressive appeals to his deluded
countrymen which prompt, in reading it, a wish that there were now
among us some voice of equal power to warn and to remonstrate with
our delusions. Of the rebellion of 1803 we must offer some separate
notice, and shall therefore avoid it here. We shall only stay to notice
that the intimacy of Robert Emmet in Mr Curran's family involved him
in circumstances of a most painful nature. To some of these we
must distinctly advert in a brief memoir of Robert Emmet, to which
we refer the reader. The visits of this ill-fated man, necessarily cast
some degree of suspicion on one so popular in his opinions and reputa-
tion as Mr Curran, and occasioned some troublesome steps of inquiry,
in which he was however treated with respect, and delicacy as well as
justice, by all persons concerned in the investigation.
On Mr Pitt's death, Mr Curran's party came into power. He was
appointed master of the rolls, and a member of the privy council. He
was dissatisfied with a station so little in conformity with the character
of his habits of legal practice, •which had been entirely or at least
chiefly confined to the law courts. And in consequence there arose a
coolness which lasted some time between him and his friend Mi-
George Ponsonby.
There remains little to be told. The rest of his life was passed in
the duties of his situation, and the social intercourse for which he was
endowed with so many striking qualifications. It is mentioned by his
biographer, that from the hour of his promotion, his spirits were
observed to decline. To relieve the monotony of his time, he was
led to form some projects of literature. Of these, one was a memoir
of himself and his time. It is much to be regretted that his health
and leisure should have deprived the world of anything from Mr
Curran's pen; we may frankly say, it is not precisely a historical
work that we should most desire to receive from his hands; neverthe-
less it must be added, that it is so impossible to believe that he could
have fallen into the utter falsehood, and the flagitious misrepre-
sentation which disgraces the historical accounts of his time, it
would have been an advantage to possess the testimony of one man of
scrupulous integrity and of legal and constitutional understanding to
confront with so much false testimony. Indeed, there are circum-
stances that show Mr Curran's mind to have subsided into far more
just and temperate views than might be presumed from the evidence
of his speeches: but as we have already observed, the speeches of the
advocate or the partisan are no test of the historian. The few remarks
24 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
upon the subject left by Mr Curran himself,* give a favourable idea
of the spirit in which he would have entered on the task, and suggest
the scrupulous caution and self-distrust, which are among the best
securities for the truth and impartiality of history. Of the other
literary undertaking mentioned by his biographer, it must be allowed
that few men appear to have been more eminently qualified by nature —
•while there was also much in the previous habits of his life to prepare
him for such an effort. We doubt whether a work of fiction can be the
fruit of such broken efforts as he would have had the power to bestow,
still there cannot be much doubt that in this department of effort, he
could not well have failed to leave a work of great power, pregnant with
wit, observation, and the heart-knowledge in which his genius lay.
This was the favourite undertaking- — and perhaps very little remained
to be done, could the effort be summoned for that little. He had in
fact composed a great part of his tale in his mind, and was in the
habit of reciting long passages from it among his friends, such as to
suggest very high expectations of what it would be when completed.
Mr Curran is mentioned as being much addicted to novel reading, and
to have dwelt with the freshness of infant delight on the scenes which
caught his fancy in the writings of the most eminent novelists. He
had evidently a fine and feeling perception of effect, indicated by his
great mastery of the art of social narration, and this, schooled as it is
likely to have been by his habits of reading and the practice of a fine
discrimination, could not well fail to have raised any effort of his pen
far above the standard of mediocrity. With all this, there can be no
doubt of the power of Mr Curran in the exercise of his intellect in the
range of passion and sentiment; this was the proper walk of his
understanding, plainly perceptible in all his sayings and doings of what-
ever description: within the same range of moral power which gave
weight and pathos to his addresses, there can be little doubt of the
success with which he might have wielded the wand of fiction.
The change of habits to which these projects were to be traced,
had, as we have said, a depressing effect on his spirits. The dry
business of equity, did not afford exercise to his peculiar powers.
It was morally a termination of his public existence, and the effect is
very traceable, both in such of his letters as have been preserved and
in the recollections which yet remain among those who knew him.
We are inclined to infer, from a multitude of small incidents, that he
had been at all times a man of the most morbid habits and tendencies
of temper; these are liable to be repressed in society, and in the con-
duct of public business; to some extent, they shun the eye of day. It
is in the privacy of retirement, or on those occasions when a man's
individual sense is in some way brought into action that they assert
their supremacy. In many of the well-known stories about Mr Curran,
there are strong proofs of this. For example, the collisions between
himself and lord Clare, are, some of them, referrible to a tendency
to suspect insult, and to the well-known habit of an irritable self-asser-
tion. It is somewhat curious indeed, that the partiality of his bio-
* See Life, by his Son, vol. ii. p. 163
PERIOD.] JOHN PHILPOT CURRAN. 25
grapher in stating the affronts which he resented with so much spirit,
passes entirely over what is so very obvious, the insults on his part which
preceded them, and which Mr Curran was so ready to offer at the call
of public duty. There is one statement made by his biographer which
appears to be wholly accountable on the supposition of a morbid antici-
pation of insult, and a fierce preparation to repel it. Mr Curran, under
circumstances tending to implicate him in Emmet's rebellion, is brought
by the attorney-general (acting as a friend) to lord Clare in private,
and is insulted by a look, which he imagined himself to have returned
with such a formidable glance as completely to prostrate the lord
chancellor, and to have changed him so wholly, that having intended
to be very tyrannical, he actually conducted himself with great for-
bearance and delicacy. Now, all this requires no comment; any
one who has well considered the characters of the parties will at once
see how Mr Curran imposed on himself. We should riot notice this,
but that it affects another person besides Mr Curran.
During this period, Mr Curran passed his vacations in travelling
for health or amusement. In his visits to England, he was received with
all the distinction which his talents and celebrity claimed from persons
of every rank; and we accordingly trace him in the highest whig
circles.
In 1814, the increasing infirmity of his health induced him to resign
his judicial appointment — and from that period he passed most of his
time in England. A few of his letters are the sole materials from which
(if space admitted,) we should be enabled to follow him with any
detail through the brief remainder of his days. These letters, which,
considering the writer, must be read always with interest, have an
added interest in the very singular distinctness with which they
exhibit the working of a mind to which the world had become vapid
and colourless, and of which the springs appear to have become
thoroughly broken down, and the spirits evaporated. Still it is the
probability, that, under the influence of the social affections, and the
power of convivial excitement, the " cervantic spirit which used
to set the table in a roar" would be lighted up for a moment, and that
the wonted charm would be found upon his tongue. And such, indeed,
is apparent from the testimony of many. But from the more retired
and sobered loneliness of his pen, the power and exhilaration had
departed — he is perceptibly overpowered by a sense of the monotony
of the prison wall of his existence, and of a life cheered by no animating
principle; his heart is sick. He reflects and remarks, but his mind is
not with his words — he makes efforts, and is strenuous without energy
or power. He meditates on mortality in the catacombs, and on all the
sad and busy vanities which he meets; but in all he seems to be rather
rousing up his mind to feel and think, than to be in earnest on any-
thing, except now and then an affecting allusion to himself. He was
accompanied by an impression, which did not deceive him, that he was
near the end of his life. A few years of very melancholy wandering
from place to place in search of health, which he did not hope to find,
and of social intercourse, which he but imperfectly enjoyed, conducted
him to the gate towards which all are travellers. He was first seized
with slight attacks of paralysis, which did not apparently affect the
26 POLITICAL SERIES. [FliTH
vital parts, and which went off without serious alarm. It was on the
7th of October, 1817, a swelling appeared over one of his eyes,
which he merely attributed to cold ; on the 8th he was seized by
apoplexy, from which he continued insensible, or nearly so, to his death
on the 14th. " Three of his children," writes his biographer, " his son-
in-law, and daughter-in-law, and his old and attached friend, Mr
Godwin, surrounded his death-bed, and performed the last offices of
piety and respect."
He was buried on the 4th of November, in one of the vaults of
Paddington church. Among others, Mr Thomas Moore, the Kev.
George Croly, and Mr Godwin, attended his funeral.
His biographer claims for him the praise of " having held for the
last twenty years of his life, the reputation of being the most eloquent
advocate that had ever appeared at the Irish bar," and adds, that " if
future times shall hold his genius in estimation, it is his eloquence
which must entitle him to that distinction.'! With this dictum we
fully agree; and, as any further criticism would involve very tedious
discussion, we must be content to adopt it.
But the most striking and peculiar of Mr Curran's talents was one
which of all others is least susceptible of any permanent memorial.
It was his wit, which during the better years of his life was as an ex-
haustless spring of delight in the convivial ring. A few first-rate
specimens are handed down among the old story-tellers of the Irish
bar — they require to be well told, and would evaporate on paper. So
much of the best sallies of wit consists in the prompt and unexpected
light that flashes from the spirit, and glances on the incident of the
moment, that in few instances it bears even oral repetition ; and for this
it must be acted to the life. It is also the free and unstudied sparkle
of evanescent gleams of combination, allusion, and of the play of fancy,
that constitutes the better order of wit; the specimen must needs do
it wrong. And the more so, as taken singly there are few mots so
supremely good as not to be within the compass of numerous punsters,
who having adopted a profession of waggery succeed from time to time
in manufacturing very clever things.
Hamilton
DIED A. D. 1834.
MR ROWAN was born in 1751. He was the son of Gawin Hamilton,
of Killyleagh, and of the only daughter of William Rowan, whose name
he adopted, in consequence of a desire expressed in his grandfather's
will. The accounts of his early life are of much interest, but must
be here omitted. He received his education in England ; and having
been for some time in Westminster school, he entered the university
of Cambridge. While a student, he paid a visit to Holland. He
obtained a commission in the Huntingdon militia, from the duke of
Manchester. About the same time, he was induced by a London
* This memoir is drawn up entirely from the autobiography of Mr Hawaii.
•PliKloD.] ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN. 27
solicitor to raise money by selling annuities at six years' purchase,
and launched into a course of extravagance. Soon after, he became
acquainted with lord C. Montague, who being compelled to return to
his government of South Carolina, invited him to accompany him as
far as Falmouth, and then prevailed upon him to take a trip with him
to America, in the character of private secretary. At Charleston, lie
witnessed some of the political disorders which were in fact the
early preliminaries to the American war. After three months, he
took his passage back to England, where having- arrived, he returned
to Cambridge.
Finding himself heavily involved by the extreme mismanagement
of his pecuniary concerns, he applied to his parents. His mother
offered to compound with his creditors, which he honourably refused. .
He obtained relief by arrangements suggested by a friendly soli-
citor, which, at some sacrifice of his estate, obtained money to pay
his debts, and continue his expensive style of living. He hired a
house on Houuslow Heath, kept lodgings in London, and " having
plenty of cash at command, thought nothing of expense." He kept
his phaeton and hunters. His coachman turned out to be a notorious
highwayman, known as "sixteen-string Jack," who, there was reason
to suspect, used his hunters for the purpose of highway robberies.
This man on one occasion, when his master happened to want cash to
buy a horse, offered him a £50 note.
About this period of his life, a paper written by one of his Cam-
bridge contemporaries, supplies some distinct notions of his character
at an early age; and as it is preserved by Mr Rowan himself, it may
be regarded as authentic. The following particulars may be gleaned
from it. It mentions " his incessant intrepidity, his restless curiosity,
his undertaking spirit." His strong mechanical tendencies are also dwelt
upon, as something unusually remarkable. His love of adventure and
frolic were equally striking, and he was "to be found in every daring
oddity. Lords Burlington and Kent, in all their rage for pediments,
were nothing to him. For often has the morning caught him scaling'
the high pediments of the school door, and at peril of his life,
clambering down, opening- the door within, before the boy who kept the
door could come with the key. His evenings set upon no less perils;
in pranks with gunpowder, in leaping from unusual heights into the
Thames," &c. At Cambridge, he is similarly described, as "after
shaking all Cambridge from its propriety by a night's frolic, in which
he climbed the sign-posts, and changed all the principal signs, he was
rusticated," &c.
Of his vivacity, frolic, and love of practical jests, many curious
anecdotes are told. And his early disposition appears equally marked
by warmth both of temper and affection, and by his animated enthusiasm.
With such a disposition, the bent of his opinions was likely to be
determined by the intercourse of that society in which he should
chance to fall. And his associates were nearly all persons who enter-
tained opinions closely resembling those which were afterwards the
principles of his own course in life. But one disposition of Mr Rowan's
mind is strongly and justly pointed out by the editor of his life, as
offering the true key to much of his early conduct; and we should add
28 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
that the same clue is also adverted to by Mr Rowan himself, when the
experience of much suffering had made him " a sadder and a wiser
man;" it was an irrepressible craving for distinction. It was his
prominent impulse to be first ; and the success which was in early years
the result of courage and physical prowess, helped to buoy up and feed
this most unfortunate direction of human pride.
The narrative of Mr Rowan's life, is one of romantic and striking
incidents and adventures, which we much regret being compelled to
omit; but it should be said that they are mostly such as to convey the
impression, of which we fully believe the justice, that he was a man of
great moral and physical energies, and capable of the utmost extremes
of hardihood, and the most exalted sacrifices to his notions of right.
Among other excursions and journeys, Mr Rowan paid a visit to
France, where he resided for some time. He became acquainted with
the notorious and unfortunate George Robert Fitzgerald, who at-
tempted to jockey him out of a horse. Having by his firm and manly
bearing defeated this design, he was soon after drawn in to take some
part in a quarrel between the same gentleman and a Mr Baggs ; of
which one consequence was, his being tricked out of £100, and then in-
duced to act as second in the duel which ensued between the parties. It
was, upon the whole, as singular an affair as we can recollect to have
read of. Mr Fitzgerald was accused of being plastrone, and defended
himself by throwing off his coat and waistcoat, when it was observed
that, though not defended in the cowardly way suspected, he had
taken the curious precaution of tying ribands round his waist and
arms. When the parties fired, Mr Baggs was wounded; and while
levelling their second pistols, he sunk, saying, " Sir, I am wounded."
" But you are not dead yet," answered Fitzgerald, firing at him.
" Baggs immediately started on his legs, and advanced on Fitzgerald,
who, throwing his pistol at him, quitted his station, and kept a zigzag
course along the field, Baggs following him." Baggs took a flying
shot, and brought down his man ; and Fitzgerald who was now wounded
in the thigh, proposed, that as they were both wounded, they should
begin again. But Baggs had been taken to his carriage.
About the same time, or soon after, Mr Rowan obtained from his
friend, lord C. Montague, a lieutenant-colonelcy in the Portuguese
army; which led to further wanderings and adventures, but to no
military service. He visited Portugal in consequence, and paid a visit
to Gibraltar.
A more important event in the history of his life is next to be
mentioned. In 1781, he was married to Miss Dawson of Lisanisk, near
Carrickmacross. This young lady was at school in England, and was
accustomed to reside during the vacations with Mr Rowan's mother.
She was, at the time of her marriage, in her 1 7th year. Some time previ-
ous to their marriage, Mr Rowan was in Paris; and his letters arid
journals addressed to her, and now published in his autobiography,
afford many interesting glimpses of Paris, and some not less so of
himself. His mother came to Paris, accompanied by the young lady,
and they were married there. While they continued to reside in
Paris, their eldest son Gawin Hamilton, afterwards a distinguished
captain in the navy, was born. They remained about two years in
PERIOD.] ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN. 29
Paris, moving, as their rank entitled them, in the best circles, and
receiving the most marked attentions from all persons of distinction.
In 1784, Mr Rowan came to reside in Ireland, when he purchased
Rathceffey, in the county of Kildare. Soon after, while he was in
Dublin with his family, a transaction occurred, which first brought
him prominently into popular notice ; and thus, we are persuaded, ex-
ercised an unfortunate influence over his after-course in life. We
cannot enter into details in themselves insignificant; but the sum of
the affair was, that a girl of the name of Mary Neal had been, or was
alleged to have been, grossly ill-treated. The proceedings taken by
her father were crossed by other accusations and proceedings — Mary
Neal and her family were accused of robbery. Her mother died in
prison; and Mary was convicted, and sentenced to death. A strong
feeling of suspicion was excited, and Mr Rowan entered into the in-
vestigation of the circumstances with all the enthusiasm of a generous
and fiery nature. He wrote a pamphlet on the occasion; and causing
a person who had a principal share in the accusation to be arrested,
he convicted him of subornation of perjury. Mary Neal was thus
saved, but an active paper- war ensued; and Mr Rowan, while his own
enthusiasm was strongly excited in the defence of an injured female,
became the object of popular admiration and favour. This is the
occasion of a story well told by Sir Jonah Barrington, and also quoted
by Mr Rowan's editor, which represents him as making his appear-
ance in a club composed of lawyers, and alarming the company with
his formidable appearance, and more formidable demand to know it'
any of them would avow himself the calumniator of Mary Neal.
This incident was soon followed by another still more adapted to
throw an inauspicious popularity round Mr Rowan. A bull-baiting
having been attempted to be suppressed by the sheriff, resistance was
made by the people — they pelted stones at the soldiers, who fired in
return, and killed four persons. Mr Rowan was applied to, and after
some signs of reluctance, came forward; after subscribing largely to
a fund for the prosecution of a public inquiry, he came to town and
spent five hours in " tracing every step of the military that day."
Sheriff Vance was tried, and acquitted ; but Mr Rowan's character was
set in a strong light, as a defender of the people's rights, and his
enthusiasm received a new impulse.
Impulses of a stronger kind soon arose, which were adapted to act
powerfully on the calmest mind. It cannot be necessary to repeat the
history of the Irish volunteers. In this celebrated body Mr Rowan
was enrolled. He joined his father's company at Killyleagh, and was
distinguished by his military adroitness in the usual exercises. At
the election of delegates, he was elected for the county of Down.
We may pass this portion of his history with the observation, that
it was his introduction to that career of party which he afterwards
followed. He was universally received with those marks of distinction
which were the natural tribute to his character and station, and
which were peculiarly adapted to work on a proud temper, accessible
to flattery, and alive in a high degree to all the kindly emotions and
social sympathies. At this time, faction had not yet wholly absorbed
the public feelings : and while motives of the noblest kind first im-
30 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
bodied the protestants of the north, the political sentiments which soon
hegan to be developed among them, and to vitiate their conduct and
character, had in themselves some high redeeming qualities; they
were true in principle, and only erroneous so far that they were prema-
ture as related to Ireland, and unseasonable as regarded the then
state of Europe. In this there is no reproach conveyed. If there
were errors, they were those of wiser men than Mr Rowan, or those
who acted with him; they were the errors of Flood, and Grattan, and
Fox, and of a numerous and most illustrious host of first-rate men;
and only illustrate the shortsightedness of the best human wisdom.
The reader is already aware, that two great impulses began at very
nearly the same period to be developed among the volunteers — that of
revolution, and that of political reform. They were both separately arid
conjointly efficient. The revolutionists availed themselves of the ques-
tion of reform, and grew up under its cover; but, as will ever happen
in such cases, they who were most in earnest, most enthusiastic, and
prepared to go farthest, gradually contrived to infect the entire.
They availed themselves of every impulse, and of the whole machinery of
the party — seized on all pretexts, and converted every passion to their
purpose. And thus, it may appear that while the views of some were
of the most pernicious kind, others were moderate and well principled.
Of this latter class was Mr Rowan ; and to him, as to several others, tho
defence set up by that party, and their advocates, may be justly
applied. They were insensibly warped with the direction given to
their party, and were taught to despair of reform, and to look for a
remedy in the gulf of revolution. The transition was artfully con-
ducted; and it was sustained and fomented by the open sanction and
excitement of the eloquence of public men, who little considered the
poisonous exhalations they were breathing over the mind of their
country.
The exceedingly able and dexterous, but most unwise and unreflect-
ing men, who gradually obtained the lead of the United Irishmen
under the pretext of two distinct views, leading the one to the other,
by which they actually imposed upon their friends, held virtually but
one from the beginning, according to the account they at the last
gave of themselves. It was first reform, as the means of revolution ;
and then revolution, quocunque modo. By this double understanding,
they were enabled to quibble afterwards with a safe conscience, and
with the help of that kind of reasoning by which anything can be
proved, or any course justified.
Mr Rowan became (as he could not well fail to be) implicated in
suspicion. In December, 1792, a paper of the most seditious nature,
breathing the sentiments, and in the language, of the Parisian demo-
cracy, was actively circulated among the volunteers ; and MrRowan, with
Mr Tandy, were accused of being the instruments employed for the pur-
pose. An ex qfficio information was filed by the attorney-general against
Rowan. At the same time, Mr Tandy resented some disrespectful
words applied to him by Mr Toler in the house of commons; and
having resolved to obtain satisfaction in the way then usual, he applied
to Mr Rowan to act as his friend. Mr Toler, however, declined the
proposed meeting. Other incidents of the same kind quickly followed*
PEIUOD.] ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN. 31
A duel between Mr Burrowes and Mr Dowling took the parties over
to Holyhead; and Mr Rowan accompanied, as friend to Mr Dowling.
Another quarrel of the same nature immediately after occurred between
the hon. Simon Butler and lord Fitzgibbon. Mr Rowan was applied to
by the former. But lord Fitzgibbon, whose courage had, in several well-
known instances, been placed beyond question, refused to compromise
the dignity of his station, by answering a challenge on account of
severe language used by him, in delivering a sentence of the house of
lords. Mr Ilowan called upon him, and with great propriety, hoped
lie might be permitted to say it was not his lordship's intention that his
words should be taken personally, and that they had been made use of
unreflectingly. The answer of lord Fitzgibbon is characterestic:
he "thought that the circumstances of the case called for the expres-
sions he had used; that he never spoke unreflectingly in that situation;
and, under similar circumstances, he would again use similar words."
He declined further explanation, referred Mr Rowan to his situation
as lord chancellor, and so the matter ended. Mr Rowan, in this affair,
conducted himself with a spirit and temper which seem to have made
a favourable impression on the mind of the chancellor. A friend of
his, who chanced to breakfast with lord Fitzgibbon soon after, men-
tioned that Mr Rowan had expressed to him his regret at having
come to Ireland while party was running so high, and that he would
return to England, when the prosecution then pending should be
over. Lord Fitzgibbon desired the gentleman to tell Mr Rowan, that
if he would retire to England for a few years, "he would issue a not.
pros, on the prosecution." But unfortunately he added the condition
that he should withdraw his name from the United Irishmen. This
Mr Rowan declined, and the offer came to nothing.
In 1793, an incident occurred which was the cause of great trouble
to Mr Rowan. In a trial in Scotland, a letter of his was read in
court in evidence against a Mr Muir, to whom it had been addressed.
It drew from the lord advocate some very severe language, directed
against the writer. Mr Rowan resolved to look for satisfaction, and
went over to Edinburgh with his friend the hon. Simon Butler. The
public was then little less agitated in Scotland than in Ireland, by
passions, animosities, and fears ; and there was far less indulgence for
the chivalric levelling of the Irish code of honour. The lord advocate
was less accessible to hostile messages than lord Fitzgibbon, and there
the character of Mr Rowan was less known. A warrant was issued
against him. He was set at liberty on the security of Mr M'Leod, a
gentleman of large property and extensive connexions, and holding
generally the same party tenets. The matter was then terminated
by the lord advocate's declaration, that he did not hold himself ac-
countable for observations which he thought proper to make in his
official capacity, £c. And as it was evident that he could not be
compelled to take a different course, Mr Rowan and his friend saw the
inutility of further prosecuting an affair which a little sounder dis-
cretion should have stopped at the first.
In the meantime, the period of the expected trial drew on upon the
information filed in the preceding year. It was the wish of Mr Rowan
to be defended by United Irishmen. But Messrs Eminet and Butler
32 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
thought it might seem presuming for junior counsel to take the lead
in such a case. He yielded to the urgency of Mrs Rowan and other
friends, and engaged Mr Curran. In the meantime his mother died,
and he went for a time to England to settle her affairs. Great delays
occurred in the prosecution of the trials. We have not space to
detail them, and the more so as they would lead to rather tedious
expositions as to the causes, which were mistaken by Mr Rowan,
whose ear was abused by the calumnies propagated by his party.
At last the trial came on: it had been awaited with breathless
interest by his friends and by the lower classes. The celebrated
speech made by Mr Curran on the occasion has been already noticed
in this volume. A verdict of guilty was brought in, and Mr Rowan
was sent to the new prison to await his sentence. Mr Rowan addressed
the court on this occasion ; and though he vindicated his own inten-
tions with perfect truth, he still avowed enough to justify the verdict,
by strong implication. It has been denied that he was the distributor
of the seditious libel at the time alleged; Mr Rowan did not himself
deny it — he distinctly justified the sentiments it expressed, and that
in language which implied his being a party to its distribution, (see
Autobiography of A. H. Rowan, p. 197). He was sentenced to a fine
of £500, and two years' imprisonment; and to give securities, under
heavy bail, for seven years.
During his imprisonment, Mr Rowan's deportment and style of
living were characteristic of the peculiar moral temper of his mind;
at the same time manifesting the generosity of his disposition, and his
strong tendencies to the love of popularity. His means were liberal,
and he kept a frugal table for himself, yet such as to enable him to
dispense freely to the wants of his poorer fellow-prisoners. When he
had been about three months in prison, Mr Jackson, of whose trial and
death we have already related the circumstances [Life of Curran\t
was introduced to him, together with Cockaine, the fatal satellite of
his mission. He also about the same period received from Mr Tone
his well-known " Statement of the situation of Ireland," written for
the information of the French Directory. Of this paper Mr Rowan
made two copies, of which he gave one to Mr Jackson to convey to
France. This, Cockaine put under a cover directed to Hamburgh, and
dropped into the post-office. The whole matter had been precon-
certed with Mr Pitt — Cockaine was immediately seized, and taken
before the privy council; and Mr Jackson was arrested, and sent to
Newgate.
The same evening Cockaine came to Mr Rowan, and gave him an
account of all that had passed; but such as it is hard to say how far it
may have been true or false. At all events, he so far alarmed Mr
Rowan, that he considered his life in danger, and determined to
escape. This he effected by a stratagem which would be tedious to
relate at length, and which we believe Mr Rowan would not have
adopted unless under a sense of very urgent necessity. Having in-
duced the under-jailer to accompany him to his own house in Do-
minic street, he contrived to retire for a moment into a back room,
where he first disguised himself, by dressing himself in the clothes of
his herd, who fortunately had come to town that day; he then let
PfiBIOD.] ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN. 33
himself down by a rope from the window, and proceeded to the head
of Sackville street, where, after some delay, he was met by his friend
Mr Dowling, according to appointment, with horses. They then
proceeded to the sea-side, to a Mr Sweetmaii's, near Baldoyle, where
they were kindly received.
The next morning Mr Sweetman set out at daybreak for Rush, to
endeavour to engage a passage for Mr Rowan in one of the smuggling
boats, and found the place in great confusion, as a military party
was already there, making an active search for Mr Rowan in all the
neighbouring houses, under the guidance of Mr Dowel, the under-jailer.
In the course of the day, proclamations appeared, offering £ 1 000 from
government, £500 from the city, and other sums from the jailers,
for his apprehension. Thus disappointed in this quarter, it was
proposed to Mr Rowan, to make his escape in a small fishing wherry
belonging to Mr Sweetman, to which he consented. Two brothers,
of the name of Sheridan, were found to navigate this little craft, and
they were to find a third person to assist. They embarked, and
after many slight casualties, among which was a storm and a fleet of
merchantmen, with their convoy, they reached the coast of France in
safety. He divided his purse among the sailors, and bade them make
for home ; but, as he learned, they were pursued and taken. We can-
not enter into the lesser details, for which we must refer to tho
autobiography from which this account is taken. Mr Rowan was
treated with harshness and suspicion by the first official persons with
whom he came in contact. He was for a considerable time imprisoned
in Brest, and exposed to unexpected insults and privations. At last,
however, by the intervention of circumstances, his name was recognized
by the inspector of jails, who, by an application to the Comitede Salut
Pullique, had him liberated, and sent to Paris.
In Paris he had an interview with Robespierre. He was at the
same time seized with a severe fever. He soon became disgusted and
shocked by the horrible scenes then acting there. He witnessed the
execution of 200 persons, and, at the distance of some hundred paces,
found himself standing in a lake of human blood. He resolved to go
to America; obtained passports for the purpose, and sailed in a
wherry down the Seine. His journey was impeded and rendered
extremely dangerous by the officious blood-thirstiness of the in-
habitants of different places he had to pass ; and it was with some
difficulty, and after many interruptions and dangers, that he reached
Rouen.
At last he engaged a passage to America, and embarked. His
voyage was not without its danger. One of these was an incident for
which he was fortunately prepared; for, seeing the likelihood of
detection by some British cruiser, it had been agreed between him-
self and the captain, who made up some bills of lading for him in his
assumed name of Thomson, that he might appear as an American
merchant on his return home. When they had been two days at sea,
their vessel was brought-to by the Melampus, commanded by Sir J.
Borlase Warren, who had been acquainted with Mr Rowan in Cam-
bridge. An officer was sent on board, who examined the ship's papers,
and then interrogated Mr Rowan pretty closely. Mr Rowan retired
VOL. VI. C
34 POLITICAL SERIES. [FirTH
as soon as he was allowed, to avoid the risk of being observed by the
British commander.
The voyage was tedious, and crossed by contrary winds ; and Mr
Ho wan amused its tedious monotony by writing a journal for his
wife. Among numerous entries of incident or reflection, there occurs
one which ought not to be omitted. " I own to you candidly, when it
is of no avail, that my ideas of reform, and of another word which
begins with the same letter [Republicanism] are very much altered by
living for twelve months in France; and that I never wish to see one
or the other procured by force. I have seen one faction rising over
another, and overturning it; each of them in their turn making a
stalking-horse of the supreme power of the people, to cover public and
private massacre and plunder ; while every man of virtue and humanity
shuddered, and skulked away in a disgraceful silence."
At last America was reached, and landing, Mr Rowan remained for
a short time at a boarding-house in Philadelphia, from which he soon
proceeded to Wilmington, about thirty miles from that city, and in the
state of Delaware.
During the few years of his continuance in America, there occurred
little to prolong our narrative. He was supplied with money by
frequent remittances from his wife, whose superior good sense and
steady affection appear conspicuously through his entire narrative.
He made two several efforts to embark in trade ; but displayed more
of the ardour arid strenuous temper of his mind, than of the caution
and calculating prudence so essential to secure profit, or even guard
against loss, in any branch of business. His indifference to privations;
his proud humility, which spurned the aristocratic distinctions to which
he had been reared; his readiness to submit to hard labours and trying
losses; — all indicate, in no unfavourable light, the bold and strong out-
line of the heroic temper of old romance. He suffered much from the
separation from his wife, but would not urge her coming- out to join
him, from the recollection of the sufferings of his own voyage. The
incidents of Mr Rowan's life in America have considerable interest,
which cannot be retained in an abridg-meiit. We therefore omit
them.
During the g'reater part of this interval, occasional efforts were in
progress to obtain permission for Mr Rowan to come home. Lord
Clare exerted a kindly influence in his favour, and expressed his
willingness to assist in obtaining his pardon: by the exertion of his
authority, he also prevented Mr Rowan's property from passing out of
the hands of his family on his outlawry. He now exerted himself to
obtain his pardon. In this he met obstacles from the opposition of
the English chancellor, but was countenanced by lord Castlercagh.
A friend of Mr Rowan (of opposed politics,) sent him out the draft
of a petition, which he advised him to transmit to government; but this
he declined, as it contained admissions and engagements which he
could not make consistently with his own opinions. Mrs Rowan,
however, urged her suit that he might be permitted to return to
Europe. Of this the following extract will sufficiently state the main
particulars. " Mr Griffith warmly seconded her efforts, by writing to
the lord chancellor, and calling on him repeatedly to urge her suit.
PERIOD.] ARCHIBALD HAMILTON ROWAN. 35
To the chancellor's honour be it recorded, that he always evinced a
cordial sympathy in the sufferings and deprivations of Mrs Rowan and
her family; that he gave her the most judicious advice as to the
management of her affairs, and suggested such a course of conduct to
Mr Rowan, as led ultimately to the accomplishment of her wishes.
At length, in September, 1799, she was gratified by the receipt of the
following letter from lord Castlereagh, with whom Mr Rowan's father
was well acquainted: — "Madam, my lord lieutenant having1, by desire of
the lord chancellor, stated to his grace the duke of Portland, that Mr
H. Rowan was anxious to proceed to Denmark from America, but
that he was afraid he might be apprehended in his passage by one of
his majesty's cruisers; I am directed to acquaint you, that, in conse-
quence of the favourable report made by the lord chancellor of Mr
Rowan's conduct since he resided in America, he will be secured (as
far as his majesty's government is concerned,) in the refuge which
may be granted him in Denmark or elsewhere, as long as he continues
to demean himself in such a manner as not to give offence," &c. &c.
In consequence of the arrangements thus made, Mr Rowan had in
1800 the happiness to meet his family in Altona, where he took a
house.
In July, 1802, Mr Rowan transmitted to the king a petition, which,
as it gives a just view of the mind and sentiments of the writer, we
transcribe.
" MAY IT PLEASE YOUR MAJESTY,
" THE humane protection afforded under your majesty's
government to your petitioner's wife and family, while crimes were
imputed to him which might have rendered him liable to the severest
penalties of the law, and he had taken refuge among your majesty's
enemies, has made an indelible impression on his mind. He could not
avoid comparing, with the strongest feelings of gratitude, the situa-
tion of his dearest connexions with the forlorn state which the families
of emigrants experienced in the country to which he had fled. Under
these sensations, in the year 1 795 your petitioner withdrew himself
from France, and retired to America, being determined to avoid even
the imputation of being instrumental in disturbing the tranquillity of
his own country. During above five years' residence in the United
States your petitioner resisted all inducements to a contrary conduct,
and remained there quiet and retired, until your majesty, extending
your royal benevolence, was graciously pleased to permit his return to
Europe, to rejoin his wife and family. Impressed with the most
unfeigned attachment to your majesty's government, in gratitude for
those favours; conscious of the excellence of the British constitution,
in which your petitioner sees, with heartfelt satisfaction, his native
country participating, under the late happy union effected by your
majesty's paternal wisdom and affection; your petitioner approaches
your majesty's throne at this auspicious moment, praying that your
majesty will extend your royal clemency," &c. &c.
In the meantime, lord Clare, to whose influence Mr Rowan's friends
mainly trusted, died, before the matter could be pressed with much
confidence; and Mr Griffith, having gone over to London, met
3G POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
•with some discouragement from Mr Pelham. Some further corres-
pondence followed, in which Mr Rowan himself took part. At last
the question was discussed in the cabinet, with a favourable result; and
his pardon was resolved on. And in the meantime, arrangements
were made to permit his coming to England, which were communi-
cated by Mr Steele and lord Castlereagh, from each of whom he
received letters, which marked an active and friendly attention to his
interests.
The king's warrant for his pardon and the regrant of his property,
contained a stipulation to prevent his going to Ireland. As it was the
opinion of lawyers that this pardon was informal, and that it should
be passed under the great seal of Ireland; that his application should
have been in the first instance made to the lord lieutenant; and that the
pardon only secured his liberty in England ; it was a great object to
go over in order to plead his pardon, and have his outlawry reversed
in the Irish courts. In obtaining this permission, he failed during the
Addington administration; but on the change, he applied to lord
Castlereagh, who showed every disposition to effect his wishes. The
delays were productive of advantage; for in the interim he found
interest to have the form of the pardon changed, and was permitted to
reside in Ireland.
He went over to Ireland, and went through the proceedings neces-
sary for the reversal of his outlawry. This being done by the usual
forms, he was put to plead, on the original indictment for high treason:
he pleaded the king's pardon ; and this being allowed, he was discharged.
These forms were concluded in a manner highly honourable to Mr
Rowan, who, in a brief and eloquent address, expressed his sense of
the clemency which had throughout been extended to himself and his
family; and concluding, "Were I to be insensible of that clemency,
I should indeed be an unworthy man. All arc liable to error. The
consequences have taught me deeply to regret the violences I then
pursued. Under the circumstances in which I stand, were I to ex-
press all I feel on this subject, it might be attributed to base and
unworthy motives," &c.
After this, Mr Rowan in a few days returned to London. He was
warmly congratulated, and his political opponents were not backward
in the cordial testimony of their satisfaction.
The remainder of his life does not belong to history ; it was passed
in the discharge of his duties as a kind and beneficent landlord, and
in cultivating the relations of private and domestic life. He lived to
the extremest date ordinarily assigned to man ; and though his course
was prosperous in the main, he had the affliction to survive his estimable
wife, and his good and brave son, captain Gawin William Rowan
Hamilton, who rose to the high rank he held in the British navy by
courage and conduct. This gentleman distinguished himself in several
actions and commands. In 1832 he resigned the command of the
Druid, in consequence of delicate health. He only lived from this date
two years, and died at his father's residence in August 1834, of water
in the chest, leaving a son of sixteen to represent his father's family.
Mr Rowan died in 1834: his remains were placed in a vault in- St
Mary's church.
PjERIOD.j SIR LAURENCE PARSONS, EARL OF ROSSE. 37
Sir 3Laur*tue jargons, igarl of
BOUN, 1758. — DIED, 1841.
WE have already had occasion to notice the origin of the family of
Parsons in Ireland. William Parsons, lord justice of Ireland in the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, died, leaving a son, through whom his
estates were transmitted to his posterity for four succeeding genera-
tions. His grandson was elevated to the peerage, as baron Oxman-
town and viscount Rosse. The next descendant was advanced to the
earldom; but the next, Richard, second earl of Rosse, died without
issue, when all the honours expired, and the representation of the
family passed into another branch.
Laurence Parsons, the brother of the lord justice, was joined with
him as supervisor of the crown lands in Ireland. He had been
appointed attorney-g-eneral for Munster, and was also made one of
the barons of the exchequer. The third successor in descent from
this gentleman, Laurence of Birr Castle, was made a baronet: the
fourth in descent from him, or the third baronet, had two
sons, William, the elder, who succeeded as fourth baronet, and
Laurence, who was elevated to the peerage in 1792, under the titles
of baron Oxmantown. and afterwards viscount Oxmantown and earl
of Rosse ; the first and last of which titles were limited in reversion
to the son of his elder brother, William, who had become the repre-
sentative of the elder branch in 1764, by the death of the last direct
representative. The person to whom we have thus traced down was
the eldest son of Sir William, fourth baronet, and elder brother to
the earl. He was born in 1758, and succeeded to the baronetcy in
1791.
In the lifetime of his uncle he took an active part in politics.
He was very much distinguished for his high independence, his
firmness and temperance in opposition, and a style of eloquence of
the best quality, — in which respect he was little, if anything, inferior
to the most eminent public speakers of his day. His style was not,
however, of that peculiar kind which distinguished the popular
orators of his country, nor did he carry his popular opinions to
that extreme which was necessary to obtain the applause of the
multitude in that period, when nothing short of extravagance could
satisfy the excited ear of a public inebriated with the lees of Ameri-
can and French democracy. Yet it may confidently be affirmed, that
he was not inferior to any other orator of the Irish parliament, if
regard be had to the standard qualities of clear reason, and an easy,
unencumbered, and forcible style. Some of the most respected men of
that day have been much indebted to the favour of the public.
The support of popular views has always conferred a species of dis-
tinction, which has been, in some measure, the result of its effects on
the public mind; and in some, of the false taste which once prevailed.
Something also is, in strictness, to be allowed for the facility of appeals
to vulgar passions and of amplifying on vulgar prejudices. Sir Laurence
derived aid or reputation from none of these tinsel qualifications. Ho
38 POLITICAL SERIES. [Firm
neither adhered to corrupt administrations, nor flattered the delu-
sions of a rude and ignorant populace, nor lent himself to the turbu-
lent and ambitious captiousness of shallow demagogues. Of the
public men of his day in Ireland, not one approached nearer to the
wisdom of the statesman, in either party; certainly in his own, none
so near. Whether he Avas right or not in his opposition to the
relief bill in 1792, one thing is certain, he clearly and forcibly, in
one of the ablest addresses which we recollect to have read, pre-
dicted its remote effects. He did not fear any evil from the relaxation
of the penal enactments, so far as the gentry and nobility of the church
of Rome were directly the subject; but he saw that the Irish
peasantry were, on every account, then unfit to be trusted with power.
He saw that it would have simply the effect to hand over so much
power to the demagogues and to the papal cabinet. This he saw in
the exceeding ignorance of the populace, and their entire subser-
viency to those who flattered their passions or governed their super-
stitions. He clearly perceived the infatuation of attributing any
weight to the idea of conciliation — a notion not merely absurd from
the mistake it involves, but the moral assumption of injustice it so
strongly implies in principle. Conciliation is so much the cant of
shallow policy, that it is worth a few remarks. — It is a principle
highly applicable only in the transactions of private life, and with
regard to individuals. In such cases it is an appeal to affections and .
sentiments, to gratitude, or to some such sense of personal obliga-
tion. Considering men, however, in their aggregate state, such sen-
timents have but a slight and transitory hold; they can be awakened
in the collected multitude by the sympathetic excitements to which
crowds are subject. But multitudes acquire all their deliberate sen-
timents by separate processes, and in their component individuals. The
individual acknowledges, in his sober moments, but a small part of the
obligation of his country. Much of it he cannot comprehend: little of
it affects himself, and that little, remotely. The public impression,
however strong, is but an ebullition, and, supposing it the deepest,
would quickly subside : its permanent effect would be an evanescent
quantity. So far is one, and but one, part of a complex error : so far
the only reasonable question as to conciliation should be, will those
who govern the will of the multitude be contented, and allow the
people to be quiet. For, in unenlightened times and nations, the most
grateful multitude will change at the first breath of the trumpet
of discontent. Another fact should not be wholly disregarded, that
concessions have ever been, and will ever be (and not quite untruly),
attributed to fear — that thus they offer no reason for gratitude, and
much reason for increased exaction. It was this mistake that mainly
overturned the Roman empire. But the doctrine, as we have said,
implies gross wrong: — why should that which justice demands be
granted from the cowardly and unphilosophic principle of concilia-
tion? And surely this exceedingly obvious principle must itself be
too quickly suggested not to neutralise the boon — surely it must ever
be understood that it is something that demands no thanks, but may
call for contempt. We would gladly blot out the frivolous word that
implies concession from fear, or denial from injustice, for ever from
PERIOD.] SIR LAURENCE PARSONS, EARL OF ROSSE. 39
the doctrines of statesmen. Such was the sense of Sir Laurence
Parsons: he bade the house of commons grant the projected im-
munities, if they thought them matter of right; but he warned them
as to what the consequences would surely be. He told them that
the power thus given would bo used, without any reserve but that
of a cautious policy, to attain an ascendency fatal to the country
and constitution. We should have made some extracts from this
speech, by far the ablest of those delivered in the Irish Parliament,
but that any specimen would do it wrong.
We find no very distinct records of his career, but the imperfect
reports of his speeches in the Irish parliament. He was -first mem-
ber for the University, and afterwards for the King's County, of
which he retained the representation, until the death of his uncle,
in 1807.
When the question of the legislative union between England and
Ireland was brought forward in the Irish parliament, he took the
lead in opposition. It was twice debated in 1799, when the measure
was rejected; and in 1800, when it was successfully introduced. On
this latter occasion, Sir Laurence anticipated the intentions of the
government, and introduced the subject in opposition to the address.
He thus brought on a spirited and warm debate, the same in which
Mr Grattan made his celebrated speech on that occasion.
Sir Laurence accused the minister of using corrupt means to effect
his purpose ; of "prostituting the prerogative of the crown, by appoint-
ing members to places, so as to pack parliament." He dwelt on the
impropriety of bringing on the measure at a time of public disorder
and alarm, when the country was covered with armies and terrified
by martial law; and insisted that the project ought to be postponed
to peaceful times, when the mind of the country should be free for
determination; and on this point dexterously retorted his own reason-
ings, against reform in time of war, upon the British minister.
He dwelt on the probable consequence, that the 100 Irish members
would become merged in the 600 members of the United Parliament —
so that, virtually, there would be no representation for Ireland. He
dwelt on the good actually done by the Irish parliament.
He observed with regret the disposition in Irishmen to look up to
England, and down on their own country, as the means of encouraging
the assaults of the British minister.
With far more reason, Sir Laurence urged the mischiefs which
were likely to be produced by the increase of absenteeism consequent
on such a measure. He ended by moving an amendment upon the
address. He was replied to by lord Castlereagh, and supported by
lord Cole, Mr John Claudius Beresford, Right Hon. G. Ogle, and
Mr Grattan.
We do not further enter upon the history of this debate, as the
topic must recur in other memoirs.
In 1 787 Sir Laurence was married to Miss Lloyd of Gloster, in
the King's County. In 1802 he had the misfortune to lose a son,
whom he commemorates in affecting terms in a work published many
years after.
In 1807 he succeeded to the earldom of Rosse. It is now several
.|0 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
years since we recollect to have read with much pleasure a work
written by him, having reference to the evidences of revealed religion.
Not happening to possess the book, we cannot, at this moment, recall
more precisely its purport. But we have a very clear recollection of
the impression which its statements then made on us and on others,
of eloquence, right intent, and an effective and agreeable style, com-
bined with the evidences of studies which are the best comfort, orna-
ment, and occupation of the leisure, and of the declining years of
those who have the reputation and ability to be the leading men of
their time.
We have also to mention a small volume, of the highest merit and
ability, written by his lordship in the earlier period of his life, on the
bequest of Henry Flood, in which he enforces with rare ability the
importance of Irish antiquities.
The earl died in 1841.
fficorge, OTount fce Brofonc*
DIED, 1792.
THIS eminent soldier was an Irish officer in the Russian service, who
conducted himself so nobly on several occasions, that he obtained the
government of Livonia, and was made a count of the empire. After
governing Livonia for thirty years, his resignation was refused by the
empress Catharine II., who answered, " Death alone shall part us."
He was an immediate descendant from the Brownes of Moyne, in the
county of Mayo.
Hortf
BORN A. D. 1763. — DIED A. D. 1798.
LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD was the fifth son of James, the twentieth
earl of Kildare, afterwards first duke of Leinster. His mother was
daughter of the second duke of Richmond. After his father's death, the
duchess was again married to Mr William Ogilvie, a gentleman of an-
cient and respectable Scottish descent. Lord Edward, being at the time
of this marriage very young, thus fell under the care of his stepfather,
who treated him with great affection and tenderness, and brought him
up with a view to the military profession.
Concerning the particulars of his early education, there is nothing
of any importance to mention. Though eminently gifted with some
intellectual endowments of a very high order, they were little developed
by education. It is, however, evident that he was brought up in virtue
and religion ; and that his strong natural affections were cultivated in
a very eminent degree. In such sense as the terms can be applied to
human creatures, and to an extent in which they can be predicated of
few, this amiable but hapless young nobleman was pure and overflow-
ing with goodness; he was possessed of taste, imagination, and enthu-
PERIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 41
siasm; but his habits of observation were more subservient to these
qualities than to reflection or common sense ; and when his enthusiasm,
passions, and even his virtues, came into the sphere of a false but
high-sounding philosophy, his noble but unguarded spirit became
entangled in the illusions, and fell a victim to the crime and folly of
darker spirits. So sweet and refined, so kindly and humane, appear all
his notions, and so sad and fatal was .the course of error into which he
was led astray, that even the widely destructive and desolating prin-
ciples to which he fell a martyr are lost sight of for a moment in the
pain of such a fall, and the sad fate of such a spirit.
In his eighteenth year, lord Edward obtained a lieutenancy in tho
96th regiment of infantry. From this he exchanged into the 19th,
with which he sailed for America. We shall not enter on the history
of this campaign; but must not omit the highly honourable testimony
of Sir John Doyle: — " I never knew so loveable a person; and every
man in the army, from the general to the drummer, would cheer the
expression."
In 1783 he returned home: his brother sent him into the Irish parlia-
ment, in the proceedings of which his name hardly happens to occur.
With his brother, and the party to which his family had uniformly
belonged, he was always on the side of opposition.
But the taste for military life, and a native love of adventure, seems
to have had possession of his breast ; the dull routines of civil life
wearied his romantic and buoyant temper ; he could not find interest
in political proceedings, which exercised none of his intellectual powers
or moral passions; his field was the ocean and the unknown land; and
it may be easily felt how he must have burned for activity. He gave
himself for a time to the study of his profession; visited Spain; and
finally joined his regiment in Nova Scotia.
He had formed more than one attachment, and met with an early
disappointment: it appears that the young lady's family had objected
to him on the score of fortune. The origin of his republican notions
is attributed by his biographer to this. The links of such a process are
obvious enough ; indeed it is easy to perceive, that when the republican
mania was going, his was not the mind to repel it: it cannot, however,
escape attention, that, in characters of an ardent and active temper, such
an incident, must have had a powerful influence, and may have helped
for a time to govern and modify his thoughts ; and we may at least well
conceive the stirring campaign, or the adventurous voyage, to have been
the chosen resources against the fret and impatience of disappoint-
ment.
Under these circumstances, the many strong, and the more numer-
ous evanescent ties by which human feelings are bound to society,
may well be conceived to have fallen loose from lord Edward, when
he 'found himself under the fascination of nature in new, wild,
and adventurous scenes, among the boundless forests and prairies
of the new world. Every one who is endowed with a spark of the
imaginative part of our intellectual nature, and who has ever felt the
impulses proceeding from the overflow of youthful life, will readily
seize the inspiriting effect of such situations. They are common to
many; but in this particular instance they constituted and for ever
42 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
modified the character of the man. It was a combination of incidents
and influences specially adapted to a nature, which, to the last year of his
life, was remarkable for its freshness and youthfulness of spirit. To such
a temper there must have been something highly congenial in scenes at-
tractive to every nature ; it was, if we maybe permitted to use a bold but
not unsuitable figure — it was as a recommencement of the wonder and ad-
miration of his infant years. Here seemed the reality of nature — pure
— unincumbered with the restraints — free from the low desires — unfet-
tered by the dull usages — undisturbed by the cankering disappointment
and anxieties — uncontaminated by the vices of social life. Here the
charm of independence, and of the primitive simplicity of savage life,
first caught hold of a mind constituted for their reception. There was
no complex system of relations with social life, such as in the course of a
few years arises from man's commercial or civil character, and from the
thirst for gain or power, to counteract these influences: nor were the
reason, the analyzing and comparing powers, brought strongly to bear on
them by any previous discipline, either from experience or study. Lord
Edward caught the flame of enthusiasm from the associations of this
interval of his life. Ho did not, as some in whom the speculative
faculties were uppermost have done, build wild theories inconsistent
with social life ; but he became fitted for their reception. If we are
asked, upon what evidence we would assign such workings to the influ-
ence of the circumstances here implied, we answer, that we would, if
necessary, rest on the testimony of his letters, of which many have been
published by Mr Moore. We have dwelt at so much length on the
impression which their perusal has made, because it is not in our power
to give them as extracts. They indicate in effect, all that we have
attempted to place before the reader in the form of inference. The
poetic powers of lord Edward, though, we presume, quite uncultivated,
seem to have been of a very high order ; and though his talented bio-
grapher has, in some instances, noticed the effect of this, we think that
he does not sufficiently allow for the fact. We have often felt that
the poetry which is wrought into some structure of language, is far in-
ferior to the internal poetry of thought, feeling, and action, which con-
stitutes a great part of the poet's existence. A man may, by a combina-
tion of but ordinary faculties, acquire the skill of dressing out a very
scanty modicum of fancy into effective verse: the artifices of composition
are themselves a science, and have a charm. But there is a deep, in-
born, and seemingly inexhaustible lightspring of bright creations of
imagination, fancy, or feeling, in the genuine poet, that infuses its sun-
shine through every particle of the mind — its sunshine or its gloom, —
and lights up or overshadows the existence of the man, though he may
never have turned a stanza, or dallied with the fetters of rhyme. In a
word, we speak not of a paltry art, but of a high and powerful state
of soul — an influence which we can best describe in the language of an
Irish poet, with whom, we trust, the reader is acquainted: —
" Hast thou beheld the obedient march of waves,
The appointed flow, the regulated fall,
The rise and lapse alternate? Even as soon
Shall they rebel against the silent maid
PlittlOD.] LOUD EDWARD 1'ITZGEUALD. 43
Who walks in joy among the company
Of Stars, and smiles enchantment on the deep,
As poet struggle with the awful power
That wakes the slumbering spirit into song,
Or man forbid the soul to undulate
Through all its depths, what time the breath of heaven
Waves o'er the darkness." — -ANSTEU.
Some more special notion must, however, be desired, of the influ-
ences of which we speak, on lord Edward. In a letter to his mother,
he writes — " You may guess how eager I am to try if I like the woods
as well in winter as in summer. I believe I shall never again be pre-
vailed on to live in a house." Speaking in the same letter of an ex-
cursion, he goes on — " I cannot describe all the feelings one has in
these excursions, when one wakens, perhaps, in the middle of the night,
in a fine open forest — all your companions snoring about you — the
moon shining through the trees — the burning of the fire — in short
everything strikes you."
It may be conceived how deeply such a spirit must have been cap-
tivated by the attractions of savage life ; and so it was. He frequently
expressed his delight at the simplicity of their modes of life, and at
their primitive equality. He entered with ardour into their forest
pursuits of game, and was even adopted into one of their tribes. In
one of his letters, he says — " The equality of everybody, and their man-
ner of life, I like very much," &c. ; and he frequently dwells with plea-
sure on the same thought. Thus, in brief, was his nature moulded.
That he thus arrived at the actual formation of any of those anti-social
theories which have been worked out by the shallow ingenuity of half-
crazed philosophy, we should not be inclined to admit. But it must be
remembered, that of these theories, some are illusions native to the mind,
the triteness of which has been put out of sight by the eloquence or
ingenuity of their advocates. That such notions should offer them-
selves very strongly under the precise peculiar circumstances, we
would look upon as a matter of course : the paradox of Rousseau is
conjured up in a different form by Shakspeare in the forest of Arden-
nes; under every approach to similarity of circumstance, the same
vision will arise; it is the deepest aspiration of old human nature.
With these remarks we shall quote Mr Moore, who says — " The conclu-
sions drawn by lord Edward in favour of savage life, from the premises,
thus half-truly, half-fancifully drawn by him, much of the colouring
which he gave to the picture being itself borrowed from civilization,
had already, it is well known, been arrived at, through all the mazes of
ingenious reasoning by Rousseau; and it is not a little curious to
observe how the very same paradox which the philosopher adopted in
the spirit of defiance and vanity, a heart overflowing with affection
and disappointment, conducted the young lover." For the causes here
assigned, we have made some allowance — not much. We think that Mr
Moore overrates their effect, as we suspect he also does their intensity
and duration. We do not think that lord Edward was one to be so
permanently affected at that period of his life by the tender passion,
or that the sentiment of disappointment could be retained and carried
into the forests of America by a heart so overflowing with youthful
life, and all its varied and buoyant emotions. Love, and all its gay
44 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
and sad changes of romance, are certainly dear to the young breast ;
when not in actual operation, they are the favourite playthings of
sentiment, and so far we can imagine the romantic wanderer to have
courted the influence of such melancholy dreams; but it requires no
casual state of emotion to suggest and recommend the fascinating
dream of savage life. There never was a poet (unless Mr Moore
claims to be an exception,) who has not dreamed it: nor to those
who have the good fortune to be altogether exempt from such wild
imaginings, will this tendency be quite unintelligible. It is, in fact, the
intuitive impulse of the natural man — the conception suggested by all
the passions, but modified by the acquired tendencies of civilization ;
and, looking at Rousseau, he displays, indeed, one of the many curious
examples of what has often occurred in philosophy — the employment
of much subtilty in coming round by a circuitous way on common and
superficial illusions.
In lord Edward's mind, tastes, enjoyments, and natural instincts,
keenly called forth and imparted all that Rousseau's philosophy halluci-
nated. There was, meantime, preparing in Europe a social phase of
moral and intellectual delirium; a derangement of the structure of
civilization, which bore a most unhappy affinity to the speculations of
the hunter of the American woods.
Before we follow lord Edward into Europe, we must not neglect to
observe, that, among the charms of his most delightful letters, — among
the most interesting we ever remember to have read, — one principal
attraction is the beautiful sentiment of filial piety that is diffused
through them. The image of his mother seems ever present to his
thoughts, and is called up by every scene that gives him pain or plea-
sure. Whenever he is animated with the noble emotions which every
situation from the heart of savage nature to the thronged military
rock of Gibraltar was sure to awaken, the overflow of filial love
escapes in some exclamation of " fond endearment," that cannot be
read without a starting tear. One of those effusions we extract for
the picture it gives, and the incidental sketch of home life : " I long
for a little walk, with you leaning on me — or to have a long walk with
you, sitting on some pretty spot, of a fine day, with your long cane in
your hand, looking at some little weed at your feet, and looking down,
talking all the time.*'
But we have loitered beyond our space in this portion of his life —
partly, indeed, because justice requires that his character should be
set in the true light, as an amiable enthusiast, whose virtues were
those of a fine mind and lofty nature, and whose faults were the result
of virtues turned astray.
On his return to Europe, lord Edward was introduced to Mr Pitt.
Mr Pitt must have quickly seen that he was not likely to find in him
a very important or very certain accession to his strength; and London
was, at the time, for one so predisposed, as dangerous as Paris. In
the society of Fox and Sheridan, Mr Moore represents him as drawing
new and deep draughts of the philosophy of republicanism. In these
gentlemen " he found those political principles to which he now, for
the first time, gave any serious attention, recommended at once to his
reason and imagination, by all the splendid sanctions with which
PuilIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 45
genius, wit, eloquence, and the most refined good fellowship, could
invest them."
From London he went to Paris, in the autumn of 1792. It was a
time when the great movement of the revolution had fully set in,
and already given sufficient indications for the mind of Burke of what
it was likely to grow to. The unhappy Louis was only not yet mur-
dered— the south was filled with massacre — the empire of pikes had
been proclaimed and established — the goddess of reason was worship-
ped— and the Jacobins were reaching their dreadful ascendancy: all
was menace and murder; but they were wreathed with flowers,
marched to music, and revelled in the strains of love and peace —
liberty, equality, and the regeneration of mankind. The theory which
the woods of America had conceived, which the eloquence of Fox
had ushered into birth, the theatrical prestige of French taste dis-
played in its specious proportions. The enthusiastic stranger failed
to be impressed with the tiger features, or the sparkle of the assas-
sin's knife beneath the tragi-comic robe, or the blood that dropped
from its folds ; he heard but the philosophy of the forest — the Arca-
dian vision was native to his heart; their cant was as the echo of the
free woods. The splendid and imposing exhibitions, which, in a more
advanced stage, " drew iron tears" from the bucaniering sympathy
of Mr Tone, gave also a strong military impulse to a higher heart.
But the influence of these new impressions was heightened by a
stronger and purer influence. He became acquainted with a young
lady whose birth is yet involved in some degree of mystery, though she
was understood, and it has since been pronounced truly, to be the
daughter of the duke of Orleans and Madame de Genlis. With this
lady he fell in love, was accepted, and married. It is to be presumed
that the daughter of Egalite was not unversed in the philosophy of
the revolutionary salons, and that the expansive spirit of latitudinarian
benevolence became exalted and charmed by that purer passion
which throws its own peculiar grace on everything-. Whatever be
the cause of the change (which, it must be confessed, was not much),
his lordship g-rew thoroughly, and, it must be said, absurdly im-
bued with the mania of liberalism. We use a modern word; for it
is now but a word for the same disease in another form: the acute
disorder has taken a slower form and is become chronic. The funda-
mental maxims which are now occasionally adverted to, cautiously, and
remotely, and timorously inferred from, by coolheaded Englishmen,
who would not dare to follow them out to their consequences, were
then sincerely and madly embraced, and carried to their legitimate
(we cannot say lawful) consequences. We find lord Edward, whose
heart and imagination absorbed the whole man, writing as follows:
" In the coffee-houses and playhouses, every man calls the other
comrade, frere, — and with a stranger he immediately begins : " Oh,
nous sommes tous freres, tous hommes, — nos victoires sont pour
vous, pour tout le monde." Such language was the spell which called
up, and seemed to imbody in flesh and blood the sublime and lofty
genius of the American prairie. It won upon his imagination and
his affections, and lured him, by his very goodness and benevolence,
from the path of honour and of safety.
4G POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII
On a fatal day, at a public dinner given by the English in Paris,
in honour of the French victories, lord Edward proclaimed himself
a convert to the doctrine contained in the foregoing pithy descrip-
tion, flung1 off his allegiance, and his civil and military rank, and
adopted the title of " le Citoyen Edward Fitzgerald." His dismissal
from the king's service followed as a matter of course. Inquiry was
considerately spared — at was unnecessary, and could only serve to throw
a stain. The hope was entertained that his dream would have a
waking, and that he might quietly fall back into the path of sobriety.
Mr Gordon, the only historian of this period of Irish history, has
hazarded some strictures on the treatment of that offence; in answer
to which it will be enough to observe, that though it cannot be de-
nied that lenity and conciliation may, as Mr Gordon assumes, have
better effects as regards the individual offender ; yet, in all such cases,
this must be but a secondary consideration. The English government
was engaged in a strenuous combat with the disorganizing principles
of the revolution; and were it not so, the conduct of lord Edward
could not, under any circumstances, be passed over without preju-
dice to the principle of discipline. It would, indeed, be an unfor-
tunate handle for reproach, that would have been soon enough seized
by those who have censured the opposite conduct; for by what law of
equal rights could lord Edward have been connived at, and any
subaltern in the king's pay been permitted tojjreathe sedition?
Lord Edward did not complain — beyond the limits of the mania
by which he was impelled, his common sense was too just: he was
not subject to those vindictive affections which so commonly warp
the sense of factious men. He was decided in his elected course
by every sentiment that binds strong spirits: the habits of his
mind; all he had learned of political opinion; the connexions
he had formed; in brief, the air he breathed was the wildest
republicanism — the very negation and defiance of social institution.
No strong grasp of reason restrained him from the too sincere
adoption of those conclusions which he drew from the fallacies
of profounder men. He was no more than Grattan would be, or
even Fox, if they fairly followed out the principles so often implied,
arid so often announced in their inflammatory speeches. By the
severest logic it would, indeed, be an easy task to work out all his
errors from the speeches of the soberest of the liberal school. But
this is a truth to which we mean to revert.
We have already traced the early rise and spread of republicanism
in Ireland. It was widely diffused under various pretexts, and insin-
uated into the popular spirit in the vehicle of some real and many pre-
tended or spurious grievances ; and was far advanced in its progress
when lord Edward arrived in Ireland.
His first return to his native land, and into the circle of his
friends and connexions, may well be supposed to have been guarded
by more wholesome associations and influences than those with which
he had for some time been surrounded. His family ties, and still
more the tie he had so recently formed, strongly tended to direct him
into the quiet courses and enjoyments of domestic life. During this
time there may have been a considerable interval, in which he was
PERIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 47
becoming acquainted with the actual state of things in Ireland.
The conspiracy of the United Irishmen, though very generally and
even precisely apprehended in every circle, was yet not correctly
identified in any of its secret springs. It spoke, as usual, an equi-
vocal language, and was sanctioned by the countenance of some
good, but not clear-sighted, men.
In this interval he enjoyed all that home-felicity for which his
nature was so pre-eminently constituted. His lively affections spread
sunshine over his roof and around his path ; his simple tastes and
spirit, free from the bonds of social convention, ensured and preserved
for him. those true and pure delights which nature only can bestow,
and bestows on so few. The history of this interval is illustrated by
letters chiefly written to his mother. They breathe all that is kindly
and noble in our purest and highest conceptions of the human cha-
racter. But such pictures of life cannot easily be preserved in the
narrow space we have at our command — the commonplaces of human
happiness and misery convey little, however varied; and such repre-
sentations can only be conveyed in the minute incidents which distin-
guish one life from another. Though such happiness as we should
have to describe may not be the lot of many, it is that state which is
nearest to the heart, and is easiest conceived by all. From these
letters we may select a passage or two. — In October,. 1794, his lord-
ship was yet reposing over the concealed earthquake in which his
happy home was to be shaken down for ever. He writes, in this
month, to his " dearest mother" — the confidential recipient of all his
emotions: — " The dear wife and baby go on as well as possible. I
think I need not tell you how happy I am. . . . Dear mother,
how you would love it [his infant] ! Nothing is so delightful as
to see it in its dear mother's arms, with her sweet, pale, delicate face,
and the pretty looks she gives it." One more little picture must
stand here for many of the same character and force. Describing
his little place in Kildare, he says — " I think I shall pass a delightful
winter there. I have got two fine large clamps of turf, which look
both comfortable and pretty. I have paled in my little flower-garden
before my hall door with a lath paling', like the cottage, and stuck it
full of roses, sweetbriar, honeysuckles, and Spanish-broom. I have
got all my beds ready for my flowers; so you may guess how I long
to be down to plant them. The little fellow will be a great addition
ta the party. I think when I am down there with Pam. and child,
of a blustering evening, with a good turf fire, and a pleasant book, —
coming in, after seeing my poultry put up, my garden settled, flower-
beds and plants covered for fear of frost, the place looking comfor-
table and taken care of, I shall be as happy as possible; and sure I
am I shall regret nothing but not being nearer my dearest mother," &c.
This letter was written in 1794.
The United Irishmen had been several years slowly, but effec-
tively, undermining the government, and cementing the prejudices
and passions, the distresses, and the vices, of the populace into a
dark tissue of infatuation, to serve their purpose, when they
were joined by lord Edward, in 1794, or, as some writers state,
two years later. He brought with him some military science
48 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
and talent, but no great prudence; but he possessed one quality
which does not appear to have been much among their gifts — a
bold and decisive spirit, which was likely to awaken and sustain the
real movements of insurrection. This is not the place in which we can
conveniently re-enter upon the difficult, delicate, and complicated pro-
ceedings of this particular period : as, in point of fact, no statement
connected with Irish politics can be simply made, we can only avoid
the discussion of facts involved in conflicting statements, and obscured
by an incrustation of party prejudices and fallacies, by cutting short
the narration. An outline of this portion of history has been
offered in the account of Mr Tone: some further notices shall be
offered in another.
It will here suffice, for the purpose of the present memoir, to men-
tion, that at the period of lord Edward's accession to the conspiracy
of the United Irishmen, it had not only attained a very mature form,
but had acquired a vast increase of impulse from the hopes of a French
invasion'. Lord Edward, with Mr Arthur O'Connor, undertook to go
to France, for the purpose of opening a direct communication between
the " Irish Executive" and the Directory. In the previous year a Mr
Lewiues, a Dublin attorney, had been sent to Paris; and the result
was, a proposal of the mission of some agent of rank, accredited by the
leaders of the body. In consequence, these gentlemen now repaired
to Hamburgh, and from Hamburgh into Switzerland. At Basle it
appears to have been arranged, that Mr O'Connor should proceed
alone to meet the French authority, as lord Edward's connexion with
the house of Orleans might cause suspicion as to the object of such a
meeting. Accordingly Mr O'Connor went forward, and had an inter-
view with Hoche, in which the general project of an invasion is
supposed to have been adjusted. Some of the results have been stated.
Hoche's expedition took place shortly after, in the same year.
This incident was not, of course, wanting to alarm the government;
and measures of a very stringent nature were resorted to for the pre-
servation of the country. The danger was urgent ; its full extent per-
fectly apprehended; but such was the complete organization of a society
of which concealment was a main object, that, as Mr Moore justly
states, there had now " elapsed two whole years of all but open re-
bellion, under their very eyes, without their being able, either by
force or money, to obtain sufficient information to place a single one
of the many chiefs of the confederacy in their power." This deside-
ratum was providentially supplied by what seems to have been the
accidental indiscretion of Mr Thomas Reynolds, a mercer of Dublin.
He was concerned in some pecuniary transaction connected with some
lands near Castle Jordan, in the county of Meath, and was travelling
with Mr Cope to receive possession of these lands. On this occasion
he disclosed the particulars of the entire plot. There are different
accounts of this incident; but it is yet doubtful whether Reynolds was
actuated by conscientious and honourable, or by sordid and treacherous
motives. As we can best understand the manner of the disclosure,
it seems to have commenced in the natural garrulity of Reynolds —
he could not resist the cravings of self-important vanity; and iu
clumsily displaying his sagacity and political, information, he pro-
PERIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 49
bably dropped hints which roused the curiosity, and sharpened the
attention of Mr Cope; who, by a little cautious cross-questioning,
or perhaps by opposition — which, since the days of the Pylian sage, has
been a good screw for secrets — drew out enough to make Reynolds
feel himself committed. According to the account given by Mr
Madden, Cope made indirect proposals of reward; on which Reynolds
revealed the whole, and was prevailed upon to take the only course
which was consistent with safety, after such a communication;
and the government was at last put in possession of the requisite in-
formation. The memory of Mr Reynolds has been ever since in bad
odour among Irishmen — we have no great interest in his defence. If
the matter was according to our construction, his worst fault was
indiscretion ; if not, it is evident that he was wanting in the " thieves
honour" of a conspiracy; but the crime, which prevented a worse,
and saved the country from a deluge of its best blood, may be allowed
to pass with at least as much indulgence as we have shown to the
buccaniering enterprise — the vindictive, plundering, and confiscating
patriotism of Wolfe Tone. But what we wanted to observe is this—
the very curious abhorrence of the " informer," which is deeply marked
in the character of the lower classes of the Irish people. It would
seem to have a peculiar connexion with habits. It may be traced, it
is true, to a very ancient origin: it seems to be the proper and natural
result of conspiracy and crime, in whatever shape; and to be no less
than the self-protecting principle applied to vicious and criminal com-
binations— the virtue of the assassin, the thief, and the conspirator.
In this point of view, it is a matter of curious contemplation to ob-
serve the deep hold which this strange point of honour possesses of
those classes and communities which are most habitually conversant
in criminal combination — the smuggler, the bandit, the conspirator.
Were we to adopt lord Bacon's method of classifying human prejudices,
we might call it an " idol" of the den. But leaving this considera-
tion, and looking to the essential principle — the moral character of the
act; it is, in truth, evident — and ought not to be left unsaid — the
motives alone must constitute the essence of such a character. We must
not allow of evil, that good may come ; and though assuredly the fidelity
of a cut-throat or a swindler is more allied to evil than his repentance,
yet we must allow that such a repentance as is here supposed may
be itself a result of the most sordid vices. — We ought, after cast-
ing such a balance, to confess that, from all the circumstances, we do not
think very highly of the honour or honesty of Reynolds; though we
cannot assent to the peculiar language with which he is commonly
mentioned. We freely admit that the disposition which induces an
individual to turn informer against those in whose aims he is himself
implicated, is most likely to be a bad quality; it is, indeed, that provi-
dential countercheck in the moral system against comprehensive
schemes of villany — the conspiracy of the evil is counteracted (in
many ways,) by its own inherent nature: it would be absurd to look
for high motives among the vicious or the false. The popular fallacy,
however, goes something farther, — it attaches an odium to the authority
that uses such a resource. This fallacy is more especially to be found
wherever the people have imperfect notions of right and wrong ; and
VOL. vi. »
50 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
it has always more especially been observable in this country, where
it has been encouraged by the use which has been so largely made of
the popular mind for the purposes of agitation. — In this latter form, it
is not necessary to expose such a notion; it too obviously implies a
conventional etiquette or point of honour between the law and the
offence — the crown and the traitor — which has only to be put into a
distinct form to resolve itself a into mere joke. The obvious design
of this work must be taken as the proper excuse for these remarks:
every step we advance in the history of the latter part of the
eighteenth century is clouded with gross misrepresentations, and the
prejudice into which in course of time they have become fixed as a
portion of the Irish public mind.
To return, — Mr Reynolds, having committed himself as described,
was prevailed on by Mr Cope to endeavour to retract and extricate
himself from the conspiracy, and to give him information from
time to time of its proceedings. A meeting of the delegates was soon
to meet (12th of March,) at the house of a Mr Oliver Bond; and of
this Mr Cope gave information to the government.
On the appointed day, Mr Bond's house was visited by the police
magistrates, and fourteen of the conspirators were apprehended. Dr
M'Nevin and Mr Thomas Emmet were apprehended at the same time,
and several others.
Lord Edward alone escaped. A separate warrant had been issued for
his arrest, of which he received notice from a faithful servant, as he
entered his brother's mansion in Kildare Street. Mr Moore, with
great justice, regrets the circumstance of his having happened not to
be taken with the others, as it seems indeed a matter of course that
his life ' would have thus been preserved with theirs. But it seems
still more unfortunate, that the high enthusiasm of this young noble-
man did not allow him to pause in his determinations, and more dis-'
criminately reflect on the precise position in which he was thus placed.
Instead of this, he resolved on pushing the preparations, already far
advanced, to the issue of arms.
The government, as we shall more fully detail 'hereafter, adopted
measures the most vigorous, though not more so than the emergency
required; and by the very natural effect of -such measures, the dis-
affected classes were rendered impatient and irritated. This irritation
was increased by the imprudent and most reprehensible declamations
of opposition members of parliament — criminal lawyers — and public
journals ; of whom some (like Mr Grattan,) were ignorant of the real
state of Ireland, — others (like Mr Curran,) felt a strong habitual
sympathy with the popular passion, — others, again, (like all the popu-
lar journalists,) only thought of their faction. Lord Edward was
now the sole head of the approaching insurrection; and while the
insurrectionary classes looked to him with anxious solicitude, the
officers of justice were no less earnestly engaged in endeavouring to
discover his place of concealment.
He remained for a month concealed in the house of a widow lady ;
from whence, it being necessary for the purposes in which he was
engaged, he removed to the house of a Mr Murphy, a featherman, in
Thomas Street. Still he might have saved himself. Lord Clare,
PERIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 51
actuated by strong commiseration for one so much to be pitied, and so
deeply misled, intimated his desire that he should make his escape,
and that the ports should be open to facilitate it; but lord Edward's
courage, and his zeal in what he looked on as a noble enterprise,
spurned at escape, save through the path of triumph. But his daring
indiscretion rendered long concealment impossible in his present
abode ; and he removed to a Mr Cormick's, another person in the same
line of trade, where he may in a manner be said to have kept an open
house for the confederates of his enterprise. It was decided that the
banner of rebellion should be raised in the province of Leinster, in
the end of May. And every day his discovery became more and more
an object of the utmost importance. On the llth of May, a reward
of £1000 was proclaimed for his apprehension. This decisive act
gave new impulse to the conspirators; and the 23d of May was fixed
for a general rising- through the kingdom.
On the 17th, information was received that he was to pass guarded
from Thomas Street to Usher's Island, and major Sirr, with Messrs
Ryan and Emerson, heading a strong party, proceeded to that quarter
— "and there being two different ways (either Wattling-street or
Dirty-lane,) by which the expected party might come, he [major Sirr,]
divided his force, so as to intercept them by either road. A similar
plan happening to be adopted by lord Edward's escort, there took
place in each of these two streets, a conflict between the two parties ;
and major Sirr, who had almost alone to bear the brunt in his quarter,
was near losing his life," &c. — One prisoner was taken, who imposed
on them so adroitly by the assumption of ignorance, that he was let
go in a few days, and turned out after to have been M'Cabe, one of the
most notorious of the rebel party — Lord Edward so far escaped. Next
day, many slight incidents occurred which led him to suspect that he
was watched — they are detailed at length by Mr Moore. He was
conducted back to Murphy's by Mrs Murphy.
About mid-day, a sergeant-major with a party of soldiers passed by,
and halted at Moore's, where he had been in the morning. This
incident so plainly indicated information, that it was thought necessary
to put him into some more secure concealment. Accordingly, a place
Avas found among Mr Murphy's stores, where his lordship continued
till dinner-time.
Mr Neilson had been parading the street during the day in a state
of much excitement, and occasionally turned to ask Mr Murphy, as he
passed, "Is he safe?" — " Look sharp!" — He was at last asked to meet
lord Edward at dinner; and he, becoming free from apprehensions,
came down to join the party. — After dinner, Mr Neilson suddenly re-
tired, for some unknown reason ; and, on quitting the house, left the door
open behind him.* Lord Edward, being left alone, retired immediately
* This incident has given 'rise to suspicions affecting the character of Neilson,
These are, however, unfounded in fact. Mr Madden mentions the following
entry—" June 20th 1798, F. II. discovery of L. E. P. £1000 ;" from which it
appears that the informer was somebody whose name was designated by these
initials. He also mentions a train of circumstances which seems to fasten the
imputation on a person named Hughes, one of the immediate attendants of lord
Edward.
52 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
to his bed-room, when Mr Murphy, soon following, found him lying on
the bed with his coat off. Very few minutes had passed from Neilson's
departure; and Mr Murphy was just asking lord Edward if he would
like some tea, when a trampling was heard on the stairs, and major
Swan entered the room. What followed is thus related by Mr
Moore: — "Scarcely had this officer time to mention the object of his
visit, when lord Edward jumped up, as Murphy described him, ' like
a tiger' from the bed; on seeing which, Swan fired a small pocket-pistol
at him, but without effect; and then turning short round upon Murphy,
from whom he seemed to apprehend an attack, thrust the pistol vio-
lently in his face, saying to a soldier who just then entered — * Take
that fellow away.' — Almost at the same time, lord Edward struck at
Swan with a dagger, which it now appeared he had in the bed with
him; and immediately after, Ryan, armed only with a sword-cane,
entered the room.
" In the meantime, major Sirr, who had stopped below to place the
pickets round the house, hearing the report of Swan's pistol, hurried
up to the landing, and from thence saw within the room lord Edward
struggling between Swan and Ryan — the latter down on the floor,
weltering in his blood ; and both clinging to their powerful adversary,
who was now dragging them towards the door. Threatened as he was
with a fate similar to that of his companions, Sirr had no alternative
but to fire ; and aiming his pistol deliberately, he lodged the contents
in lord Edward's right arm, near the shoulder. The wound for a
moment staggered him; but as he again rallied, and was pushing
towards the door, major Sirr called up the soldiers ; and so desperate
were their captive's struggles, that they found it necessary to lay their
firelocks across him before he could be disarmed, or bound so as to
prevent further mischief."
He was carried away in a sedan-chair to the castle, where his papers
were examined and verified. From thence he was removed to New-
gate. There he suffered much from his wound — perhaps more from
the cruel and unnecessary exclusion (if truly stated,) of his nearest
friends. '
There remains a very circumstantial narrative of these incidents,
written by Mr Murphy, of which we have made little use; because, by
his own account, he was immediately removed from the scene of
action; and also because his account is strongly tinged with very
evident, but most excusable, feeling^ of irritation. We only advert to
it because it differs slightly from that collected by Mr Moore.*
The government acted on this occasion, as on many others? with a
severity which would, upon any principle of human nature but one, be
inexplicable — the sense of dire emergency and the vindictive spirit
which cannot fail to be sooner or later developed by fear and opposi-
tion. Lord Camden refused to permit the relations of the unhappy
prisoner to have access to him ; nor could he be induced to relent
by the most affecting entreaties. Finding him inexorable, lady Louisa
Conolly, the prisoner's aunt, had recourse to lord Clare. Lord Clare
was entertaining a large party at dinner, and came to the door with his
* MacUlen's United Irishmen, vol. i. pp. 254, and seq.
PERIOD.] LORD EDWARD FITZGERALD. 53
napkin in his hand. He could not act in direct opposition to lord
Camden; but he was so deeply moved by the entreaties of this noble
Jady, that, without his hat, or the slightest change of dress, he stepped
at once into her carriage, and drove to the prison — introduced her to
the prisoner's apartment, and remained with considerate patience for
two hours, while she communicated with her dying nephew.
The scenes which occurred between lord Edward and some members
of his family are extremely affecting. In pain of body, and deep distress
of mind, a heavy sense of desolation and horror had crept over his feel-
ings. Mrs Pakenham, who watched him with unwearied care, having
learned that symptoms of a fatal kind had also set in, sent off an ex-
press for his brother Henry, and lady Louisa Conolly; from whose
letter, as given by Mr Moore, the following extracts are taken: — "I first
approached his bed: he looked at me, knew me, kissed me, and said,
(what will never depart from my ears,) ' It is heaven to me to see you;'
and shortly after, turning to the other side of his bed, he said, « I can't
see you.' I went round ; and he soon after kissed my hand, and smiled
at me, which I shall never forget, though I saw death in his face at
the time. I then told him that Henry was come. He said nothing
that marked surprise at his being in Ireland; but expressed joy at
hearing it, and said, * Where is he, dear fellow?'
" Henry then took my place ; and the two dear brothers frequently
embraced each other, to the melting of a heart of stone; and yet God
enabled both Henry and myself to remain quite composed. As every
one left the room, we told him we only were with him. He said,
' That is very pleasant.' " Lady Louisa then mentions a conversation
in which she gave him some accounts of his wife and children. It
did not proceed far before he showed signs of mental wandering.
They left him with a promise to return next day. But within two
hours and a-half he was dead.
The wounds of lord Edward are stated to have been slight, and
insufficient to have caused his death. But there was a sad aggrava-
tion of circumstances. The incidents immediately preceding and con-
nected with his capture, were of so shattering. a nature, and so likely
to shake and disorder a frame of mind and body so finely organized
as that of lord Edward, ill and broken as he is described to have been
for the previous fortnight, that we have no doubt that a severe illness
must, at all events, have been the result. After his arrest, the agita-
tion of his feelings, and the disorder of his nervous system, are indi-
cated, by well-attested facts, to have been very great. A wound
which, under more fortunate circumstances, would have been rapidly
healed, was, as has sometimes been experienced in even slighter cases,
affected by a morbid action, resulting from an entire derangement of
the frame and its functions ; and, accordingly, it is stated that morti-
fication set in the day or two before his death. It was accompanied
by fever and occasional paroxysms of strong delirium. If to any one
this account should appear insufficient, we have to suggest a due con-
sideration of the circumstances. The unfortunate young nobleman
was under the immediate apprehension of an ignominious execution,
horrible beyond all description to his high pride and sensibility. It
was the same awful terror that has so often blanched the hair and
54 POLITICAL SERIES. [FllTH
stamped the wrinkles of premature old age, in a few days upon the
convict. Of these conjectures, a strong confirmation will be found in
the narrative of Mr Moore, who mentions the effect produced on his
lordship by the sounds from abroad, where preparations were in pro-
gress for the execution of another person.
One extract will complete our melancholy and most reluctant task.
It conveys the most satisfactory incident by which the life of mortal
man can be attended at its close. " I hear that he frequently com-
posed his dear mind with prayer, — was vastly devout — and as late
as yesterday evening got Mr Garnet, the surgeon, to read in the
Bible the death of Christ, — the subject picked out by himself, — and
seemed much composed by it."
Such scenes, so told, will be read, as they have been transcribed,
with a painful tension of the breast and a feeling too deep for com-
ment. A heart more full of all the kindly affections, or more alive to
the happiness they confer — a temper more free from degrading vice
— or a spirit so heroic, will not often be presented by human record,
in a situation so darkly and awfully contrasted with its proper nature
and happier hopes.
It remains to give some account of the more immediate conse-
quence of this tragic incident to the remaining members of the party
thus deprived of their leaders.
Deprived of their leading men, the executive directory met in a
state of perplexity, and not without serious apprehensions ; but they
easily saw that there remained no choice between hurrying on the
insurrection or abandoning their accomplices to their fate. It was
not, indeed, difficult for men intimately acquainted with the state of
the people, to be aware that the wave of excitement had reached
that point at which it must break. They issued orders, on the 23d
of May, for a general rising of the people. Early on that day the
colonels of the districts immediately surrounding Dublin met in
Abbey Street, to receive orders from those who were commissioned
to give them. Neilson, already mentioned in this memoir, was the
principal acting person on this occasion. It is said by one who was
not likely to be misinformed, that on this occasion he got drunk on
his way to the directory; and instead of proceeding on his errand,
he reeled off to the prison of lord Edward. He offered, accord-
ing to some accounts, to force his way; but it is certain that he was
arrested. He was well known to the jailer, having been for some
time in the same prison. In the meantime he was expected at the
directory, and much anxiety was felt. On learning what had occurred,
they dispersed in hurry and dismay. This completed the disorgani-
zation of the party and their system. There remained an infuriated
and widely-confederated populace, deprived of leading and command,
but desperately bent on the venture to which their spirits and passions
had been so long and so sedulously wound up.
Lord Edward left three children with his widow. On the 27th of
July, 1798, a bill for his attainder was brought in by the attorney-
general, — which passed after much discussion. The members of the
Irish government are admitted, by adverse authorities, to have been
reluctant on the occasion; but to have acted on the principle, that
PERIOD.] SAMUEL NEILSON. 55
examples of terror were necessary at the time. When the peace of
the country had been settled, there was shown much disposition to
repair the injury thus sustained by the family of the unfortunate young
nobleman. As lord Edward had not been tried, there was much
question as to the legality of the attainder. On this we cannot pre-
tend to determine, but it seems inconsiderate. Had he been tried and
convicted, the attainder would, we believe, be an immediate conse-
quence, by the common law. The bill of attainder was not by law,
but by an express act of the legislature, in strict conformity with the
principle of law; and, therefore, quite constitutional. The treason
was confessed by several acts, and not subject to any doubt. A bill of
attainder would seem to be the precise remedy in such a case, for
which the law falls short, though the reason of the penalty remains.
We think that a mistake arises also from not clearly keeping in view
the real principle of all legal penalties — not for the punishment of the
individual, but to deter others from the offence.
But the point of justice being settled, it must be admitted that an
attainder, in one respect, differs from most other penalties, inasmuch
as it includes the innocent. This consequence has led to several
modifications; and, above all, to the very cautious and humane ad-
ministration of such a penalty. Nor can it be said that the case
of lord Edward is remarkable as an exception. The disposition to
reverse the attainder, was counteracted by the violent outbreak of
Emmet's rebellion, in 1803, and by the agitated state of Ireland during
the interval. The return of a general peace was the event for which
the English government thought it prudent to wait; and this caused
a longer delay than was anticipated. At length it came; and, in
1819, on the application of Mr Ogilvie, and by the kind efforts of the
late earl of Liverpool, the attainder was at last reversed.
The estate of lord Edward had been sold under the foreclosure of
a mortgage in chancery. It was purchased by Mr Ogilvie for the
heirs ; to whom it was restored, free from encumbrance.
Samuel Netteon*
BORN A. D. 1759. — DIED A. D. 1803.
IT is alleged by Mr Madden, that Mr Neilson was "the originator" of
the United Irish Club, as Mr Tone was the contriver and author of
its organization.
The prominent part which he took in the events related in our
previous volume, renders it fit to give some distinct account of him.
In so doing, we must endeavour, so far as may be, to avoid re-entering
too minutely into questions to which we have already devoted a con-
siderable portion of our space. A few preliminary observations are
necessary to this essential abridgment of our labours.
The reader who has perused the memoir which we have given of
Mr Tone, may recollect that a very principal object which we have kept
in view, through that memoir, has been to exhibit the fact, that there
was, from the commencement of the United Irish Association, a
56 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
secret intent, concealed by a public and avowed pretext. Both have
been, with sufficient fulness, traced and appreciated in these pages.
The after statements by which the same delusion was attempted to
be kept up, have also, to some extent, been exposed; and we shall
yet come to their more deliberate exposure. With these remarks,
we shall offer a summary account of the main incidents of Mr Neil-
son's life.
He was the son of a Presbyterian clergyman in the north, and
spent several of the earlier years of his life in some commercial business.
The prevailing passion for politics, and the great interest of the
critical events of the time, drew him, like others, into political move-
ments, which then rapidly absorbed all other concerns in Ireland. He
became proprietor of a public journal called the " Northern Star,"
which was the principal organ of that party out of which the United
Club had its origin. The preliminary address of this paper, pro-
posed parliamentary reform, as the chief object of its attention. But
in strict accordance with the statements which we have already made,
we have Mr Tone's authority for the assertion, that reform was in
part regarded as a pretext ; and in part, as a means to an end ; and
that this end was " to erect Ireland into a republic, independent of
England."* The first number of this paper appeared 4th January,
1792. The particulars are very fully and minutely detailed by Mr
Madden ;•{" but we think it enough to state here, that it was set up by
a subscription of wealthy merchants of Belfast, that Mr Neilson em-
barked £500 in the undertaking, and that the paper quickly acquired
an extensive circulation, by his exertions. After some time, in 1794,
he became sole proprietor of this paper. As it was the great channel
for the publication of matter not altogether within the bounds of
legal admissibility, it was occasionally the subject of expensive prose-
cutions, which soon induced the other proprietors to relinquish their
shares, and finally compelled Mr Neilson to abandon his mercantile
occupations. After many misfortunes of the same kind, brought on by
the illegal and seditious character of his publication, it was finally
suppressed in 1797, after having been a principal instrument of in-
calculable mischief to his country. Previous, however, to this last
mentioned event, Mr Neilson himself had, with others of his con-
federates, been arrested, and committed to Newgate, on a charge of
high treason. Mr Neilson's conduct upon the occasion was manly
and creditable to him. It was such, at least, as in some measure to
confirm our opinion that, however we must condemn his actions, and
repel his principles, he considered himself as acting for the good of
his country ; and that he was elevated by a sense (however fallacious)
of right. We say this here the more emphatically, as the views
offered in these memoirs, of the conduct in which he was embarked,
involve so much of crimination, that it becomes the more imperatively
necessary to preserve all strictness of discrimination, in favour of those
whom we are thus forced to censure. With this sense, we take the
present occasion to express our opinion, that Mr Neilson was sincere,
* Life, Vol. I. p. 67.
f Madden's United Irishmen, Vol. II. p. 51 ; and Vol. III. p. 102.
PERIOD.] SAMUEL NEILSON. 57
honest, and disinterested; and that, although he acted under delusions
too common at the time, he was one of those few whose patriotism was
not a pretence, and a cloak for the concealment of faction, self-
interestedness, or mere turbulence. We cannot afford space for the
detail of such incidents; but the circumstances of Mr Neilson's arrest
are extracted at length by Mr Madden (pp. 104, 105, vol. iii.), from
the Northern Star of that date. It will here be enough to state, that
he voluntarily surrendered himself to those who were authorized to
arrest him, on the alleged ground that, having committed no offence,
he had nothing to fear.
Among the points specially to be noticed on the occasion of this
incident, there is one of seemingly small importance, on which we
consider it most especially our duty to animadvert, because it consti-
tutes an essential part of the uniform tinge of misrepresentation,
against which it has been our chief care to guard. The narrators of
the incidents of this period, in speaking of the conduct which the
Irish administration found it necessary to observe with regard to
their prisoners, describe it in general terms which seem to imply the
most cruel as well as needless severities. When, however, the relation
descends to particulars, they exhibit not only the utmost stretches of
lenity and indulgence, but even a general laxity, which is not always
so easy to justify ; and which occasionally gives rise to consequences,
such as to account for some instances of seemingly unaccountable
strictness. Occasional harshness is indeed a necessary and unhappy
consequence of all habits of undue relaxation. Now, in the instances
immediately under consideration, some such causes are made quite
apparent from Mr Madden' s narrative : that there was a very imperfect
and relaxed system of prison government ; that the prisoners availed
themselves of it, to a very remarkable extent; that thus their whole
demeanour, as well as some occasional incidents, could not fail to awaken
alarm and suspicion among the prison authorities ; and that, in
consequence, there was occasional recourse had to the employment
of a formal strictness, which appeared capricious, and carried
with it an appearance of exceeding the demands of the occasion,
for this is the common effect of all relaxations of system ; and
lastly, that the complaints which accompany the narration of such
formal acts of strictness, almost uniformly terminate in the admis-
sion of great indulgence and lenity ; so that it is not easy to account
for this inconsistency, until it is observed to be the result of a
fallacious and most unfair habitual system of language, indiscrimin-
ately applied. Some instances of very rough and informal acts may,
indeed, be traced in these narratives, which can only be excused by
the sense of emergency and the ignorant zeal of the persons employed.
These can, however, be in some measure accounted for, by the conduct
of the prisoners themselves, as related in their own accounts. They
contrived, with great dexterity, to defeat all the ordinary constraints
of their prison, and to maintain a nearly unrestricted correspondence
with their friends and confederates abroad. With this we find no
fault; but we contend that it offered grounds to justify extraordinary
precaution on the part of the government, and to excite considerable
irritation among the subordinate agents with whom they were in per-
58 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH
sonal communication. The prisoners were persons of considerable talent
and courage, and were known to be connected with a wide-spread
and formidable conspiracy; facts entirely overlooked by those who
adopt in their defence an indignant tone of injured innocence, wholly
inconsistent with these facts. The perverted and wrong-headed spirit
in which these men saw everything, is indeed curiously illustrated by
the mock-heroic petulance with which they are related to have re-
torted to the very forms of justice. Of this, some ludicrous instances
may be found in Mr Madden's history. But it is not our intention to
enter into any detail of the history of these individuals, whom the
events of an agitated period have brought into a prominency to which
they are not otherwise entitled. As the narrative of their misfor-
tunes has been made the vehicle of much injustice, we have simply con-
sidered it as our duty to endeavour to rectify the false position in
which their misdeeds and follies have been placed. We fully concur
with Mr Madden in condemning the occasional instances of brutality
in low officials, which he relates: we also have felt with him the
deeply afflicting pictures of distress to which the imprisonment of
these persons, who are the heroes of his narrative, gave rise. But
we cannot approve of the invidious tone in which the tale is told.
He does not seem to have reflected that these instances are but
the common incidents of humanity ; that cruelty and vice may
be found acting on the side of justice and order ; and that the bosom
affections of life will assert themselves even in the sufferings of
the lowest criminals. Mr Madden speaks of the sufferings of
Neilson and his fellow-prisoners, as if they were those of innocent
men, though he must know very well that the government were
thoroughly aware of their guilt. He evidently assumes, that there
ought to have been a strict adherence to those ordinary constitutional
processes, which are not sufficient, and never were designed, for the
state of emergency to which these persons had reduced the kingdom —
a state which would well have warranted the most decided and sum-
mary courses that the precedents of history admit ; and which,
mainly considered, was met with a degree of moderation as well as
firmness, not easily to be paralleled in such emergencies. The con-
stitution would be feeble indeed, which could be swindled away by
men as shallow and visionary as Neilson and his associates, under
the very protection of those forms and constraints which were insti-
tuted mainly for its defence. It seems to be imputed as a serious
offence on the part of those whose duty it was to protect the state,
that they used the only available means for the detection of as
dangerous a conspiracy as any which has been recorded in history.
Who, but spies and informers, can, under the well-known circum-
stances, be found to give the necessary intelligence ? But on this
point, it is evident enough that the common fallacies of the criminal
advocate — admissible in the discharge of his duty — are absurdly
adopted by historians. We cannot enter on the task of answering
perfect absurdities. It is curious enough to find grave and learned
men seriously examining the proofs of ascertained offences, as if they
were lawyers, by the application of tests and arguments which, even
PERIOD.] SAMUEL NEILSON, 59
\vhen addressed to juries, have no effect, bcccause they are mani-
festly inconclusive.
On the 22d February, 1798, Mr Neilson was liberated. If we are
to adopt the grounds for this step, proposed by liberal historians, we
would infer that it was in some measure to prevent disclosures, which,
if prematurely made, would seriously embarrass the efforts of govern-
ment to bring the details of the conspiracy to light. It is also pro-
bable that a false sense was attached to the declaration that Mr
Neilson was innocent, made by Bird, a person who, having first agreed
to give information, was seized with remorse, and escaped. It did
not occur that Bird was probably not quite in the secret, and also
that his notion of guilt may not have involved rebellion. On his
liberation, Mr Neilson removed to the house of a Mr Sweetman,
with whom he remained until the arrest of the principal leaders of
the conspiracy at Bond's.
After this event, he again was induced to take a very active, and
even violent part. His excuse, when afterwards questioned, was, that
he had learned that he was again to be arrested — an apology of which
we must doubt the candour, as it is not only inadequate, but essentially
connected with the violation of the pledge on which he was liberated.
However this may have been, he now exerted himself with great ac-
tivity in filling up the vacancies left by these arrests. His habitual in-
discretion quickly led him into the danger he pretended to have appre-
hended. He was actually proclaimed on the 22d of May, the day after
the arrest of Henry and John Sheares. He planned an attack on New-
gate, for the next day, for the liberation of lord E. Fitzgerald. He was
taken while reconnoitering the prison, and his party in consequence
dispersed. He is alleged to have received severe personal injuries on
the occasion. The fact is not to be doubted, as the sincerity of Neil-
son is strongly attested, and still more forcibly confirmed by after
circumstances. Yet it is to be observed, that the foulest imputations
are brought forward against more respectable men, on far less grounds
than those which have given rise to suspicions connected with Neil-
son's conduct at this time. We shall presently notice them, not for
the purpose of crimination, for we acquit Neilson of the imputed
wrongs, — but to illustrate the true nature of charges easily made, and
often difficult to meet, which have been too largely dealt in by the
party to which Neilson belonged.
Mr Neilson was the first proposer of that compromise with the
government, by which himself and many of the other prisoners were
spared, and afterwards liberated. It was suggested to him by his
attorney. We have already mentioned the main particulars. The
evidence given on the occasion by Mr Neilson, is subject to the
same comments which we have already made on that of his fellow-
prisoners.
During the negotiation which was carried on between the prison-
ers and the government, a very striking, and indeed singular, display
of human perverseness and cunning ensued. The prisoners were mak-
ing terms for their lives: they bargained to give certain information
to the government, and formed the design to deceive the government
in their communications. They simplv viewed the contract as ah occa-
60 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
sion to impress views favourable to their purposes, and to vindicate
themselves. Their examinations (as published by themselves) were
plainly a contest of advocacy. Nevertheless, they manifested a bold
and defying front, and exercised a petulance of temper, which would
be astonishing, if we were not to consider that, when they had secured
their lives, there was nothing further to fear; that is, nothing at once
apparent. There was, however, in their evidence, nearly as much in-
advertence as craft and dissimulation. They let fall inconsistencies
and strong admissions, in the shape of opinions; and, on the whole, dis-
played a temper and tone of character, which could not fail to awaken
strong distrust.
While such was the position in which they stood, circumstances
arose in which it appeared unsafe to liberate them unreservedly.
The conduct of Mr Tone had made it quite apparent, what con-
sequences were to be expected from sending out some dozen mission-
aries of Irish conspiracy to guide French expeditions to our shores.
To the administration it became apparent, that it was inconsistent
with their own notions of public safety. They acted on a principle of
public duty, (perhaps a mistaken one,) when they determined to
qualify the terms into which they had entered with the prisoners.
These, on their part, displayed the temper which was to be expected,
and for which it is easy to excuse them. They were subjected to a
grievous disappointment, and, according to their principles, an un-
merited penalty. But it had become far too apparent, from their own
conduct, and the tone of character they had displayed in the negotia-
tion,— that, under the existing circumstances, they could not, with
safety to the kingdom, be trusted. Whether, under such an impression,
(for this is enough,) it was the duty of government to hold to the
terms of an agreement, hollow and specious on the part of the pri-
soners, and on that of government merely a formal pretext for mercy
— is a question into which we do not think it necessary to enter; nor
should we have wasted space by stating it, were not the complaints of
the prisoners iterated and reiterated, until they have passed into tacit
admission on all sides. There are occasions when it may become
apparent that persons in office have entered into engagements in-
consistent with their duty to the nation: it will then depend on the
nature of the contract, and the character of the parties, how far they
are bound. A nation, for example, having ratified a treaty with
another nation, to its own prejudice, must abide by it; because, in the
commerce of nations, good faith is of more importance than any con-
sequence which can be fairly supposed. But it is not in the power of
a government to bind a nation, to its manifest hurt, to a small party
of individuals, even if they were not rebellious subjects. And even if
this proposition should not be granted, it will be allowed that the case
admits of strong allowance. Assuredly, it was not for subjects
leagued against the government, and equivocating for their lives with
the intention to keep no faith themselves, to complain of any depar-
ture from an imperfect engagement, in which there was no reciprocity
— a contract which could not stand in equity. We cannot consider that,
substantially, any injustice was committed towards men whose whole
proceedings had fully and fairly earned for them the last penalty of the
PF.RIOD.] SAMUEL NElLSON. 61
»
law; and who, in bargaining for their lives, had recourse to every pos-
sible chicanery. Men whose folly, to say the least, steeped their country
in blood, and who used all the efforts of falsehood to make their own
crimes appear chargeable on the essential and indispensable precau-
tions of government, could not be permitted to take the lofty tone of
wronged and suffering patriots, and to heap most unmerited odium on
the government, while experiencing its mercy. The indignation of
official agents was quite justifiable: it was in some instances displayed
in acts of petty insolence, discreditable to the actors, but nothing
further. The personal indignities of which Mr Neilson has com-
plained, are not to be assumed as attributable to any cruelty on the
part of persons under government: the prisoners were generally
treated with great indulgence — this we have on the express admission
of many of them. Mr Neilson appears to have been in some respects
a special exception : this will be in part explained by his own conduct,
which was at times such as to alarm his associates. He was violent,
indiscreet, and, if he cannot be described as a drunkard, he was, when
drunk, more than usually dangerous. Mr Madden, we are aware,
defends him from this charge : but Mr Madden, whose honesty of
of intent we freely admit, has unawares slipped into the very common
failing of having two different methods of judging of the infirmities
of different classes — one for lord Clare, and another for Samuel
Neilson. For those who, in that period of emergency and alarm, were
burdened with the most trying and responsible duties which can fall
to human courage and wisdom, there seems to be no scrutiny of
motives too nice, no rule of conduct too exacting: they must rise
above mere humanity, and execute justice, or maintain truth, without
suffering at any time, for a moment, the most delicate tinge of indig-
nation to rise against the fools, the madmen, or the linaves, from whom
it becomes their duty to save the peace, happiness, and virtue — the
religion, principles, and institutions of the social state. On the other
hand, for the theorists and projectors who would carry out the most
wild and insane speculations at the expense of society — who, while
they breathe philanthrophy, union, and the rights of man, in their
ignorance and folly, or wickedness and selfishness, as it may be, (for
there is always a mixture,) of which the result must be blood, ruin,
and desolation, — there is no stretch of allowance too wide. The phi-
losophy and heroism which is supposed to be implied in their creed,
covers every vice, and explains every ambiguity. The heroes and
martyrs of rebellion are to be canonized by popular piety, and the
blasphemy of imputation repelled with pious resentment. So radically
is this perverted sentiment intermingled with those writings to which
we are now mainly compelled to resort for material, that, as we read,
an influence falls over the mind, and we shrink involuntarily from
profaning the monument which a false superstition has raised. We
recoil from insulting the ardour of honest and well-meaning, though,
we think, mistaken veneration.
We are not in the least degree desirous to pursue the memory of
these idols of popular veneration with severity. Our only desire is
to apply the same law of equitable allowance to the infirmities of
those who have been the marks of a deep and long-breathed rancour,
C2 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU
which has not been permitted to pass with the times and events which
gave rise to it. We freely admit of the defence which has been
made for Mr Neilson, on some apparently equivocal points. We
think that he was, to the full extent of his own principles, an honest
man. His letters from Fort- George display him favourably, so far
as respects the private relations of life. His political conduct was
sincere, according to his views. But those views were not merely
fallacious; they were to be carriedinto effect by craft and dissimulation,
to an extent which we shall presently have to point out. His sufferings
evidently sobered, corrected, and dignified his character ; the prisoner
of Fort-George is a different man from the prisoner at Newgate. On
the whole, there is somewhat very unaccountable in the circumstances
attending his imprisonment in Newgate. He made a complaint of the
very heavy irons in which he was placed by the jailor. But it after-
wards incidentally appears that those irons were but a pretence. He
only wore them, he told Mr Curran, for the inspector; while the jailor
affirmed in court, that he put them on him from the fear that his life
would be attempted. There is some inconsistency in the whole nar-
ration; and the entire of the circumstances, when put together, seem
to justify the dismay and tergiversation of the rebel directory when
they heard of it. If Neilson was, what we should not wish to deny
without better proof, an honest man, he was so excessively unguarded in
his conduct, that no secret can be easily imagined safe in his keeping.
Persons of his character often differ much in their sober and drunken
moods. And further, it ought to be observed — rather in reference to
the topic into which we have been led, than to Neilsou — that in Ire-
land, and in Neilson's especial circle, a man might acquire a very
honest name, and be very far from being an honest or honourable man
in any other. There was, at that time, among the lower classes, a very
singular confusion of principle, which appears to have been indige-
nous, but which we ascribe in reality to a perpetual state of secret con-
federacy, in many respects not essentially different in principle from
the murderous creed of the Thugs in India. The people had little
notion, at the time, of strict truth or commercial integrity; but in its
place there was a certain point of faith and honour in crime, of which
the conventional name was " loyalty." To be true to his faction, to
be a trustworthy accomplice, to hold the religion of his fathers, were
the general tests of character. The devotion to a cause appears to
be a strong tendency of the Irish character — a moral element, which,
if correctly disciplined and rightly applied, would be the source of
the highest moral virtues. But the Irish peasantry were then wholly
uncivilized — the gentry not very much above them in this respect;
and it can be perfectly understood how a class of fallacies, generated
in a common social state, grows insensibly round the moral nature
of a people. The point of honour was, indeed, a virtue of the same
class; and it held a similar supremacy over the gentry. To some
extent the two elements were blended. A fact not sufficiently allowed
for in the analysis of social influences, is the great intercourse between
the higher and lower classes in the early part of life. The child has
his first sentiments from the servant; his first ambition is to receive
the flatteries of the dependent : the youth, studious of athletic games
PERIOfi.] SAMUEL NEILSON. 63
.and field sports, enters into relations of sympathy with a larger and
lower class. Thus the sentiments, the notions, superstitions, and pre-
judices of the inferior class, entered insensibly, and modified the not
very dissimilar habits of mind of the middle class. In the long-
continued existence of such a state of things, accompanied by a
system of conspiracy which had become constitutional, the same influ-
ences operated on the very language of the country. We reserve
some further disquisition on this point, till \ve shall have an occasion
to apply it.
The personal severities experienced, in some particular instances, by
some of the prisoners, are not to be fairly imputed to the Irish ad-
ministration, but to the animosity of low individuals. Such instances
cannot be defended; but it is admitted, on the best authority (that of
the prisoners), that their general treatment was humane and indulgent.
Some allowances must be made for the impression caused by sudden
alarms; something for sudden indignation; something for the fact that,
ia emergencies, the first proceedings were of necessity summary, and
conducted by inferior agents. Even the statements of those writers
who omit no complaint which can be imagined, contain sufficient ad-
mission to make good this view. Strong charges are made in general
terms against lord Clare and against lord Castlereagh: their conduct,
however called for, is interpreted by the imputation of vicious motives;
yet when they are in any instance personally brought forward, their
actions are humane and honourable.
To return to the contract: the English government it was, and not
the members of the Irish administration, which, on very full and suffi-
cient grounds, determined to detain the prisoners till the termination
of the war with France. They could not decide otherwise. They could
not have anticipated that this would be productive of any very un-
reasonable length of captivity. They ordered them to be conveyed to
Fort-George, a military fortress.
The true spirit of this measure, and the entire absence of any vin-
dictive motive, was shown by the great attention paid to the health and
comfort of the prisoners. This is strongly testified by the letters of
Mr Neilson, from which Mr Madden gives abundant extracts. The same
documents also strongly manifest a very considerable improvement in
the character of Mr Neilson himself. Separated from the moral con-
tamination of the party with which he had moved — the depraved
habits which had lowered both the moral and intellectual tone of his
mind; and confined to the society of the better class of that party — men
of talent, information, and^virtue, — he becomes sober, reflecting, and
disciplined. Separated from his family, his affections are awakened
into a predominating intensity, and his religion becomes a happy and
salutary resource.
The prisoners passed their time in reading', and music, and frolic,
which was indeed in itself both natural and excusable, in a manner and
with a degree of violence which bore plain marks of the same turbulent
and vindictive spirit which marks the whole of their conduct. Their
remonstrances and reproaches, evidently designed to excite popular
irritation, produced no effect either on the people or the government ;
and they were perhaps surprised by the lenient and forbearing treat-
64 POLITICAL SEIUES. [FlFTH
ment which was shown them through the entire period of their im-
prisonment.
Mr Neilson, by a courageous act of self-denial, was enabled to ob-
tain his son as the companion of his captivity. The prisoners in Fort-
George, were allowed each a pint of wine every day. Mr Neilson
sold his share at the rate of 3s. 6d. per bottle, by which means he
raised a sufficient sum for the maintenance of his boy, then in his
seventh year, and remarkable for his docility and amiable dispositions.
This child not only employed much of his father's time usefully and
pleasurably, but also helped to amuse the dulness and monotony of
their confinement for the other prisoners exerted themselves for his
instruction.
Under these circumstances, Mr Neilson's imprisonment, though dis-
turbed by the natural impatience of constraint, was passed in a quiet
and virtuous tenor of studies, duties, innocent amusement, and intelli-
gent society, which had together a salutary influence both on his
health and moral character.
At last, peace was concluded with France ; and the inmates of Fort-
George were liberated. Mr Neilson turned his mind to America,
but first determined on a clandestine visit to Ireland — both to see his
family, and to vindicate himself from some imputations which affected
his reputation. He effected this purpose with some risk, but without
any material adventure.
He then crossed the Atlantic — having left his family in Ireland —
with the intention to secure the means of subsistence, before he removed
them from their friends. On his arrival in New- York, he soon re-
ceived encouragement to induce him to set up a journal; and entered
upon his labours with diligence and success. But a rheumatism, con-
tracted during his long imprisonment, soon returned with added seve-
rity, and his constitution quickly gave way. He died at a small town
on the river Hudson, in 1803, in the 44th year of his age.
doctor
DIED A.D. 1341.*
DOCTOR MACNEVIN was descended from a family of considerable
respectability, in the county of Galway. At an early age, he was sent
to Germany, on the invitation of his uncle, Mr Hugh MacNevin, who
had acquired some property in that country by marriage. He there
received a good education, and having obtained the qualifications essen-
tial for the practice of physic, he returned to Ireland, and commenced
practice with great success in Dublin. Being of the Church of Rome,
and possessed of an active temper and considerable talents, he soon
began to take a prominent part in the political agitation of his time;
and thus became acquainted with the leading members, who, under the
pretext of seeking catholic emancipation and parliamentary reform,
* Though Doctor MacNevin has lived far into a period later than that in which
we are yet engaged, yot his life helongg to the time in which he is here noticed.
PERIOD]. THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. 65
were working round their party, with great art and success, to deeper
views. Dr MacNevin is mentioned, by his daughter,* to have been
first initiated into the arcana of the United Irishmen by Arthur
O'Conor and lord E. Fitzgerald, on whose expressed desire he be-
came a member ; after which, his activity and zeal were distinguished
on several occasions.
The events which soon after followed, and which led to the long
imprisonment and expatriation of Dr MacNevin, have been sufficiently
detailed in the preceding memoirs. After his liberation, the doctor
travelled for a time: he subsequently went to France, and entered, with
the rank of captain, into the French service— with the hope (as his
daughter infers from his conversations on the subject,) of serving in
some expedition against Ireland. This prospect having soon wholly
disappeared, he resigned his commission, and sailed for New- York,
where he once more entered, with the best success, upon his profession.
In 1810, he married; after which he spent a long and prosperous
life. • He appears to have been a man of the kindliest nature, capable
of the warmest attachments, and deriving from them the uninterrupted
felicity of his long life. He died, respected by his adopted country-
men, and lamented by his friends and family, in 1841. Besides several
political pamphlets, he published a " Ramble through Switzerland"-—
" Pieces of Irish History" — an edition of " Brande's Chemistry"— an
" Exposition of the Atomic Theory," &c.
DIED 1841.
DOCTOR EMMET was a physician of great practice, and high repute,
in Dublin. He held for several years the place of state physician.
He was thus, by station, brought more directly into the acquaintance
and conversation of the most eminent public men of the day. With
much to recommend him to the regard of his large and eminent circle
of intercourse, there is ample reason to believe that the doctor was
rather a clever and active-minded than a wise man. Were we to form
an opinion from the various notices of him which occur incidently, and
from the history of his children, we should say that he was a man of
singular and eccentric habits of mind, with a considerable portion
of flighty enthusiasm and cracked talent. As politics in Ireland
were sure to absorb any superfluous activity of mind, the doctor
was very earnest and wrong-headed in politics. In a time when
revolutionary notions were mixed up with even the most temperate
views of whig party, he left all far behind in the wildness of his
schemes, and the almost crazed zeal with which he took every occa-
sion to enforce them. He had three sons, all young men of the most
brilliant parts, who, each in his own way, inherited something of the
unlucky craze which neutralized the understanding of their father.
And to the fault of nature, education did not fail to add its part. A
* Memoir, in Madden's United Irishmen, Vol. ITT.
VOL. VI. -R
(36 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
hyperbolical and fanatic idolatry of country, was the devotion of their
infant years. There are times and countries, when, unquestionably, the
principle could not well be either misapplied, or carried too far; but
Ireland was not the country ; nor was the beginning of a democratic
ferment, that was to overflow the civilized world with confusion, the
time for any very violent excess of such a temper. The Emmets
grew up in the spirit of martyrdom, to a cause which they AVOIV
prepared to adopt as the cause of their country. With the spirit of
knights-errant, we must allow that they were endowed with the noble
virtues of ancient chivalry — they were humane and honourable, as
they were devoted. As each of the brothers is entitled to some share
of our notice, we shall give here a short account, in order, of the
two elder, before entering upon our narrative of the history of the
younger and more celebrated brother.
Temple Emmet, the elder, was considered, by those who knew him,
a prodigy of attainment. His memory was astonishing, and his com-
mand of language strange and peculiar. He is said to have begun his
profession of the law with the full and precise knowledge that is usually
the attainment of a laborious life. But if we are to form an opinion
of his intellect from the account which remains of his style, judgment
and the discursive faculty do not seem to have had much place. His
language was not merely extravagantly figurative, but actually cast in
the mould of verse; and even as poetry, it appeared inflated. He,
nevertheless, soon attained practice, and died early, in greater business
than had been known in any other instance.
The next brother, T. Addis Emmet, is better known. Of the three, he
would appear to have had the most manageable combination of faculties.
He also was called to the bar, and rose to early eminence. He was, like
his brothers, early schooled to liberalism in politics ; and though he did
not join the United Irish conspiracy till 1796, he yet endeavoured in
all things to serve its ends in his professional capacity. One occa-
sion is mentioned, on which he acted in a manner remarkably charac-
teristic of that peculiar temperament ascribed to his family. Some
persons were prosecuted for the administration of an unlawful oath.
At a certain stage of the proceedings in court, Mr Emmet, having
risen to speak to a point of law, took the opportunity to say that
he did not consider the oath unlawful ; and, to the astonishment of the
court and all persons present, he added, " My lords, here, in the pre-
sence of this legal court, this crowded auditory, in the presence of the
Being that sees, and witnesses, and directs this judicial tribunal, — here,
my lords, I myself, in the presence of God, declare, I take the oath."
It is mentioned by Mr Madden, that another barrister — well known as
one of those United Irishmen who were expatriated by the agreement
with government — a Mr William Sampson, at nearly the same time,
performed the same feat on a similar occasion, and with the same
impunity.
Mr Emmet soon after joined the conspiracy, and was one of those
who compromised for life, on the occasion here adverted to. We have
already offered some comments on the evidence which he gave on that
occasion.
In 1791; he married a Miss Patton, the daughter of a presbyterian
PERIOD.] THOMAS ADDIS EMMET. 67
clergyman, by whom he had many children. This lady was permitted
to remain with him during- a considerable part of the long interval in
which he was confined in Fort George, and had a child there.
After the liberation of Mr Emmet, his thoughts naturally turned to
America. He crossed the Atlantic, and landed at New-York. After
some doubts as to the selection of a profession, he chose to recom-
mence life in the profession with which he had already made acquaint-
ance in Ireland. He selected the state of Ohio, and was
admitted to the bar at Alexandria; but presently yielded to the advice
of general Clinton, then governor of New- York, to remain there. A
great obstacle, arising from the regulations of the bar, stood in the
way; but by the influence of his friends, and the consent of the benchers,
it was removed; and he was permitted to practise, without the preli-
minary probation of six years, which would have been a serious deduc-
tion from a life of which forty years had been already spent.
We very much regret that we cannot go into the interesting details
of Mr Emmet's most honourable and distinguished career at the New-
York bar. It is a portion of American biography; and though we
admit that it reflects honour on the country of his birth, yet it would
lead us too far from the course — from which, however we may have
been occasionally tempted to wander in our earlier volumes, we are
now imperatively bound to keep.
He rose to the rank of attorney-general, and stood in reputation at
the very head of his profession, both as an orator and a lawyer. One
of his critics compares him to Erskine, and places him above Curran, —
and adds, " I might safely challenge the whole list of Irish orators for
the superior of Thomas Addis Emmet." We quote this as clearly
fixing one thing — the unquestionable character of Mr Emmet. As to
the comparison, we may observe by the way, without questioning Mr
Emmet's superiority, that the critic displays an imperfect acquaintance
with the Irish bar; at which Mr Curran, with all his undoubted elo-
quence, was far from standing first ; and at which Mr Erskine would
have met more than his match.
Early in the year 1827, while addressing a jury with all his wonted
eloquence, Mr Emmet was seized with an apoplectic fit, and carried
home, where he died, in the 63d year of his age. Every mark of
respect due to his great eminence was observed. His funeral was
attended by the members of his profession.
Mr Emmet was as well known, and as much revered, for the worth
and amiability of his private character and deportment, among his
friends, as he was honoured and respected by the public for his talents
and public virtues. His learning was various; his knowledge of his
professional science, profound ; and the industry by which these attain-
ments had been gained, not less than the brilliant talents employed in
their use.
A public monument was raised in the court where he was seized
with his last illness, and inscribed with an honourable and true
tribute to his memory, from the country of his adoption.
68 POLITICAL SERIES.
J&obert Emmet,
DIED 1803.
ROBERT was the youngest son of the Doctor Emmet mentioned in a
foregoing memoir. Of the history of his early life, it is unnecessary
to take notice. It must be easily apprehended that his education and
early habits were the fitting preparation for the brief and unfortunate
career which forms a part of the history of his country.
He has been described, by one who was not likely to be in this
respect mistaken, to possess surpassing eloquence. But all that is known
of the incidents of his life may serve to illustrate how little of essential
connection there is between eloquence and a sound understanding:
his opinions on political subjects were those of a visionary and
fanatic. We must endeavour to state, within the briefest compass
we may, the event of which he is the hero.
The legislative union between this country and England had been
effected, and the consequences were looked forward to, by sober men
of either party, with different anticipations ; while there was prevalent
among the more moderate men, and the better classes, an anxious hope
for the benefits which its advocates had abundantly promised. These
hopes were to receive the first of many blows from the desperate
project of a few deluded men, a remnant of which had, unfortunately
for this country, escaped from the hand of justice in 1798. Among
these men there was deeply retained a trust that they would still be
enabled to effect their mad and wild projects: they brooded in Paris
over dreams of revenge and plunder, which their fancy delineated
with a fine and shadowy pencil as the back-ground of that political
regeneration which was yet to come from France, then beginning to
spread her principles, and their results, over Europe. There Mr
Robert Emmet found a secure and appropriate asylum from the stern
control of the English ascendancy, and the constraint of British laws ;
and, in the society of a chosen circle of citizens and sages, the elite of
the Jacobins and the United Irishmen, drew the liberal lore of French
philosophy and Irish patriotism. These men were at least resolved
that their beloved country should not settle down prematurely into an
ignominious acquiescence in the new order of thing's, or subside into
the hackneyed progress of commercial civilization. To rescue her
from this inglorious end, and restore her to her centuries of intestine
disorder, was the favourite hope for which alone these men lived.
They kept up a correspondence with their friends at home, and
watched with anxious vigilance everything that stirred the popular
spirit.
For a moment, their hopes had been excited by the report of colonel
Despard's meditated conspiracy to assassinate the king; and before
this design failed, they had met, and entered upon a resolution to send
over to London to obtain accounts of the actual progress of affairs,
and to give such aid as might be required. One of those who were
not under any prohibition, accordingly visited London, and entered
into communication with Despard. This emissary, having been so far
PERIOD.] ROBERT EMMET. 69
successful, proceeded on to Dublin, and succeeded, without much
trouble, in raking together the embers of the rebellion of ninety-eight.
There was enough of this to be met in every quarter; but, mixed with,
the patriot's fire, there had sunk deep a cold and deadening experience.
The generation then existing had received a lesson on the con-
sequences of civil war, which damped their eagerness with a little
cool discretion ; and this, which was to show itself signally when
matters were a little more advanced, gave signs, even at the outset,
not very satisfactory to a gentleman who was yet fresh from the
Parisian school, and breathing freedom. Nevertheless, he did not
despair, but entered on a vigorous course of preparation ; brought
together secret meetings, and spent considerable sums in the collecting
and forging of arms. This gentleman, whose name was Dowdal, is
said to have been carried by his enthusiasm into many indiscretions,
and now and then dropped his disclosures in mixed company. The
government had obtained a clue to Despard's conspiracy; and it is
more than probable that the correspondence of Mr Dowdal thus fell
into the hands of the authorities. His own associates, trained to
caution, and fearing his indiscretions, began to avoid him; and he was
himself, by some means, so alarmed, that he concealed himself for
a time. Despard was arrested, and his conspiracy frustrated; but
Mr Dowdal had given so much encouragement to his friends in Paris,
that Robert Emmet and others were already on their way to Ireland.
Emmet arrived some time in the end cf November, and took up
his abode at llathfarnham, where he lived with Dowdal in entire
seclusion. Mr Hamilton, one of the principal persons now concerned,
was sent to Paris for Russel, the well-known friend of Wolfe Tone,
and one of the original planners and movers in the old conspiracy. The
whole party were soon together, carrying on their secret meetings
in Thomas street, and making all provisions and arrangements for
the execution of their treasonable ends.
At these meetings, Emmet was usually in the chair. They did not
confine their discussions to the immediate purpose of the meditated
outbreak, but entered into the consideration of all the various con-
ceivable forms of government, consistent with that insane notion of
freedom which was the basis of all their acts and imaginings; and
there is authority enough to say, what, considering the men, needs no
authority, that plans were proposed, amounting to the dissolution of the
social state in any form. To such results, even the most moderate
looked as consequences to come, but from the reproach of which they
hoped to keep clear, by declining to be the immediate instruments of
unnecessary mischief and ruin.
While they were thus proceeding in these isolated deliberations,
accounts were received from correspondents in the north that appear-
ed to indicate some revival there of the smouldering fires of the
former conspiracy. To avail themselves of this auspicious promise,
Mr Russel was despatched in that direction. That we may not have
to write a memoir of this gentlemen, we shall for a while accompany
his movements.
After a circuitous journey, Mr Russel arrived in Belfast, where he
was well known as the active associate of Mr Tone ; and, immediately
YO POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
after, a meeting was brought together, to hear from his lips an
account of the hopes, means, and progress of the new conspiracy.
He, on his part, as his breast was the seat of a more earnest and
sincere zeal, had the more anxious part of endeavouring to feel the
pulse of their patriotism, and to infuse into lukewarm breasts the
spirit of conspiracy. Though he found many ready enough to enter
warmly into the views which he unfolded, it presently became unpleas-
antly apparent that the majority were unprepared to hear of any
prospect of immediate action: their sentiments were as disaffected as
he could desire ; and they showed many sparks of convivial indignation,
such as finds a safe and salubrious vent over the punch-bowl. But it
was too plain that their expectation and their wishes had not risen
above the natural impulse of the vulgar — to hear speeches, hold meet-
ings, utter complaints, and enjoy the comfort and self-importance of
conspiracy.
His views were, however, assented to; and when the more daring
agreed on immediate organization, no one had the face to show his
fears by dissent; and thus it was that Russel was for some time the
dupe of his own activity and enthusiasm. One meeting got rid of its
vacillation by appointing another; and several were held in succession,
in different places, and by different persons. We shall avoid the dis-
agreeable and sometimes painful task (now unnecessary) of entering
into details, which could not be prolonged without language which we
endeavour to avoid to the utmost extent.
Having set the flame in motion, Russel hastened to make his reports
in Dublin; and having obtained instruction for concerted movements,
he returned to his post. The plans in town had been conducted to the
verge of explosion; and Mr Russel returned to urge immediate action.
He brought accounts of formidable preparations, of sure-laid projects,
and seeming success. We have to observe generally, on these enunci-
ations, that they evidently infused more of surprise and consternation
than of military ardour. The meetings began more and more to be-
come like Quakers' meetings, and to derive their whole excitement
from the circulation of the glass. Russel promised mountain's, after
the approved prescription of conspirators. He did more, recollecting-
the maxim of Horace, to appeal to the evidence of seeing — oculis
Jidelibus, — he carried about a military coat, made and ornamented after
the true revolutionary cut of the Parisian school; and when he found
his oratory ineffectual, or when at times he had succeeded in exciting
a transient glow — the hectic of a fear-damped patriotism, — he put on
the coat, and endeavoured to rouse their virtue and confidence by a
stalking show of military pomp. But the coat had mostly an effect
different from his intention — it seemed to offer a nearer view of appal-
ling realities, and evidently excited a wish to escape. In a word,
it is nearly evident that his valour only roused the spirit of northern
discretion ; and the coat, gorgeous with gold and green, came upon
the jolly meetings as an evil auspice, that shook from its horrid skirts
"pestilence and war," like Milton's comet, and not only sobered the
stoutest, but paralyzed even the circulation of the social jorum.
Like most deeply infatuated men, Russel, though he could not help
feeling the reaction on his own confidence of these discouraging in-
PERIOD.] ROBERT EMMET. 71
cidents, neglected to reason on them strictly; but thought to escape
from the suspense of one abortive stage of progress, by trying the next
and more decided. His courage took refuge in the path of despe-
ration. It appears only accountable by some such impulse, that, in
despite of the manifest indications of reluctance, which were the only
result of all his exertions, he endeavoured to resort to the expedient
of violent and open action. Notwithstanding the dry evasions, the
reserve, and the frequent panics of his friends, and the decidedly
avowed unwillingness of the peasantry, he proposed an attack on the
barracks in Belfast. His opinion, supported by his colleague Hamil-
ton, and by a few bold persons of an inferior description, was passively
assented to by the meeting in which it was proposed, because they
shrunk from expressing reluctance; but with a secret intention on the
part of each individual to keep himself clear of all danger. This was
the latent danger. Russel and his companion were too brave, and too
little sag'acious, to comprehend this state of things, until they were per-
sonally committed beyond 1'etreating-. In the interval, their eyes were
painfully and slowly opened by a succession of painful disappointments.
The meetings for the purpose of the enterprise above mentioned, can
only be understood by comparing them to a crowd of grown men
humouring the follies of children. They came together, talked of the
crops, and looked grave at the mention of action — proposed to wait a
little — took fright, and skulked away, leaving the general alone. The
persons who were employed to convey intelligence, and sound the
people, returned accounts that they generally expressed reluctance to
be shot at and hanged, and would not rise until they saw decided
prospects of success. These persons, in their heedless zeal, distributed
seditious papers indiscriminately, and soon rendered secrecy out of
the question. The violent alarm thus spread over the country ope-
rated as an added check, both to the peasantry and to all leading men
who might otherwise have aided with their council and influence.
The agitators presently also had the mortification to learn that one of
their chief friends had abandoned them.
But they had one trust — they depended upon the success of Robert
Emmet in Dublin, and reckoned with confidence on the results. For
themselves, there was no safety, but in the field ; and they strenuously
urged those who could be prevailed to listen, to consent to rise when
the account of Emmet's success should arrive. This promise none of
their friends refused, for all considered it a safe one ; and a general
understanding spread to this effect. The two colleagues separated,
and met with various incidents ; but orte event was common to both —
they were reached by the tidings of Emmet's failure, and were under
the necessity of concealing themselves; but in vain. We shall pre-
sently recur to the remaining incidents of their career.
We now return to the master-mind of the movement. Mr Emmet's
zeal, energy, and talent, had infused spirit into his immediate accom-
plices in the metropolis. He collected material, and organized a sys-
tem of not inadequate preparation, and arranged schemes of attack
and simultaneous movement, which, had they been successful, must
undoubtedly have caused much calamity, though it cannot consider-
ately be affirmed that they would have ensured the prosperous issue
72 POLITICAL SERIES. . [FlliH
of his undertaking. A house was taken in Patrick street, No. 26,
where a manufacture of arms and various combustibles was kept busily
at work. Pikes to fold like the handles of a parasol, for concealment,
and abundance of long pikes, were forged ; rockets and grenades were
made; hollow beams were filled with every missile of destruction, with
gunpowder to give them murderous effect. With these, guns and
blunderbusses were stored, with other implements, for the various
purposes of assault or obstruction. Among the several cross circum-
stances which frustrated these formidable preparations, the first was
a frightful accident. In bearing materials from the furnace to the
table, for the preparation of the rockets, the droppings of some explosive
substance had been suffered to fall and concrete on the floor. A spark
from the workman's pipe fell on this; and a tremendous explosion of the
whole store of inflammable ingredients shook the house, and destroyed
the floor on which they stood. One man was killed, most of those
present frightfully injured, and great alarm communicated to the
whole neighbourhood. Most unfortunately, the real occasion of the
mischief was not suspected, though the police of the city (not then
very efficient) crowded to the scene, and found scattered in confusion
the plain-speaking evidences of some secret treason.
The effect of this disaster was, a great increase of vigilance in the
indefatigable mind of Mr Emmet. He now took up his abode wholly
at the depot, where he watched the progress of the work, relieving
himself by study, and taking rest, as nature required, upon a mattress
on the floor. A few sentences, from a paper written at this time, and
found in the room, not only convey with the most impressive truth
the character of the writer's mind, but throw no feeble gleam of ex-
posure on the conduct of his plans. " I have little time to look to the
thousand difficulties which stand between me and the completion of
my wishes. That those difficulties will disappear, I have an ardent
and, I trust, rational hope. But, if it is not to be the case, I thank
God for having gifted me with a sanguine disposition. To that dis-
position I run from reflection; and if my hopes are without foundation
— if a precipice is opened under my feet, from which duty will not suffer
me to run back, — I am grateful for that sanguine disposition which
leads me to the brink, and throws me down, while my eyes are still
raised to those visions of happiness which my fancy has formed in the
air." How strongly the inexpressible enthusiasm of the fanatic is
drawn in this language! how still more strikingly the rashness and
precipitancy of spirit that hurries to ruin, and will not damp its
energy, or fret its impatience, by the deliberations and precautions
that are essential to the success that in any way depends on minute
and complex details ! Such a man might be efficient on the edge of
battle, and lead the torrent of a rushing charge ; but Mr Emmet was
engaged in a nice and delicately-framed system of arrangements,
dependent on the most circumspect attention to the conditions of time
and place. Such a project was easy enough to plan; and Mr Emmet,
so far, was no way deficient in contrivance : but in his calculations,
many elements were omitted. Like all ardent projectors, he could
not allow for casualty,— he could not forecast the small accumulation
of errors, fears, and vices, which must have part in such a tissue of
PERIOD.] ROBERT EMMET. 73
minds and instrumentalities. Mr Emmet has left an authentic detail
of his whole arrangements, written with a view to vindicate himself
from the reproach of an abortive plan. We can here only use it for
a brief summary ; but it is impossible to give that document an atten-
tive perusal,* without feeling the truths here expressed.
The three principal points selected for attack were the pigeon -
house, the castle, and the artillery barracks at Island-bridge. An
arrangement for the surprise of Cork-street barracks was also planned.
Certain points from which effective resistance was to be apprehended
were also to be occupied. These were chiefly, the old custom-house,
Mary-street barracks, and the corner house of Capel street, opening
on Ormond quay. For all these points, strong bodies of men were
severally allotted, — generally from two to five hundred. Houses were
secured by hire or otherwise, and magazines of the most formidable
description designed. In some streets, strong lines of defence were
planned, either by chains and cross-beams, or by overturning the neigh-
bouring stands of hackney coaches. A line of streets (being the
issues from Beresford street) was to be thus occupied, to compel the
king's troops to move towards the castle in the line on which the
rebel forces were to be concentrated for their reception. As the
army might still take different directions at Merchant's quay, there
were arrangements for assault in different turnings. All these ar-
rangements were to be mainly of the same description; — cross chains,
and beams loaded with explosive ingredients; bodies of men in the
houses, with fire-arms and grenades, and in the streets with pikes.
When the time drew nigh, the materials were found wanting, partly
from the blunders of subordinate agents, and partly from want of
money. In consequence, Mr Emmet gave up all the points of his
plan but the castle, and the lines of defence.
For the attack of the castle, the men were to assemble at the depot
in Patrick street; — a house near the gate was to be obtained. The
first step was to consist in the entrance of two jjj>b coaches, loaded
with armed men, who were to step out and seize the guards. Should
this stratagem fail, persons were to be ready, in the next house, to come
down by a scaling-ladder from a window over the guard-house ; and a
fire was to be at the same moment opened on the gate from three op-
posite windows. An arrangement was made, in the expected event, to
send off the Lord Lieutenant and government officers, with the bulk of
the artillery, to the commanding officer in Wicklow, where the tra-
gedy of Wexford bridge might have been enacted on a magnificent
scale, in case it should be found necessary to retreat. It is, however,
not essential to particularize the events that were intended, or might
have been. The actual result will clearly show what might have
been expected from success.
Three rockets were to denote the commencement of an attack ; a
rocket with stars, to announce victory ; a silent one, repulse.
But the beams were left, — some unloaded, some without wheels ;
the fusees were unfinished; the jointed pikes blown up, &c. &"c. The
* It is published in the Appendix to the Life of Mr Curran, by his Son.
74 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH
appointed bodies of men did not come in. Some parties came too soon,
and went off in time to save themselves and others. In short, nothing
was ready, and all was in utter confusion ; and as the counties were
supposed to be ready for simultaneous action, the day could not be
postponed. " Had I another week, had 1 1000 pounds, had I 1000
men, I would have feared nothing," was the significant apology of Mr
Emmet. To this unfortunate madman it is justice to add, that, when
the moment approached, and he saw that failure must be the inevi-
table result, he made such efforts as he could to prevent the rising.
But numbers of Kildare men had actually come into town; and
though Mr Emmet had the courage to rush upon a sea of bloody con-
tingencies, he possessed neither the sense nor firmness to arrest the
impulse altogether. He made an effort far less efficient than he seems
to have assumed it to be, to prevent the rising of the counties; yet,
while he states this fact in his apology, and endeavours to vindicate
his conduct, it does not appear that it crossed his thoughts, how rash
and criminal, on any allowance, was his next and last step. Having-
actually relinquished the objects of his enterprise, and exerted himself
to arrest its progress, is the only intent which could (even according
to his own principles) justify the havoc and bloodshed it involved.
After having insisted that his object was to allow of the least blood-
shed his purpose would admit, and after the enterprise was divested
(for the time) of all its promises, it seems strange and unaccountable
to find him leading out a small and desperate baud of ruffians and des-
peradoes, of the most vile and abandoned description, to waste their
violence and sanguinary propensities on peaceful men. He could not,
under the circumstances, dream of any effective success, consistently
with any pretension to be qualified for command, nor consistently with
any knowledge of the rabble at his heels, could he have failed to see
what was to follow. Any drum-boy could have unerringly predicted
the whole course of the following incidents: but the sanguine temper,
so truly drawn by^his own hand, worked to the last ; and this is Mr
Emmet's true apology. He then had upon his mind an impulse and
an impression, not much differing from the illusion of monomania,
that, somehow or other, all would go well.
On the appointed day, numerous small bodies of men had come in,
and collected at the assigned points of mustering. These were, for
the most part, dispersed by reports which were long attributed to
cowardice or treachery, but which, by Mr Emmet's own account, may
be inferred to have been set in motion by himself. The money, re-
quired for some indispensable necessaries, had not been obtained until
five in the evening; and by the absence of the store-keeper at that
critical moment, as well as from the want of arrangement, the whole
materials and equipments lay in inextricable confusion
About nine in the evening, when, by the plan, 2000 men should have
been armed at their posts, about 200 were come together ; and a few
more scattered bands, at different lurking corners, waited securely to
see what turn the matter would take. The appointed signal was
given. A rocket was seen to arise from Mass lane, and a disorderly
and unarmed banditti rushed together at the depot. There, guns and
PERIOD.] ROBERT EMMET. 75
pikes were liberally dispensed to all who came ; and there can be little
doubt that many of the mere city rabble, whom the noise drew to-
gether, were tempted to take the weapons thus lavishly given.
Among the tumultuous and confused uproar of people, scrambling
for pike and gun, Mr Emmet stood conspicuous, in an attire not quite
unsuitable to the occasion — the green and gold of revolutionary
France. Messrs Stafford, Quigly, and Dowdal, his staff-officers, were
similarly attired in Jacobinical foppery.
The arming was soon completed, when Mr Emmet drew his sword,
and gave the word "Come on, boys!" and marched off at the head of a
small party of not quite a hundred men. The last division of his fol-
lowers, to the number of 400, were to join in Thomas street.
In Thomas street, Mr Emmet was destined to learn a lesson in the
laws of insurrectionary war, which the history of a few previous years
should have amply taught. The rabble, whom he conducted, displayed
the faithful indication of the only purpose for which they were fit. A
carriage driving through the street, was instantly surrounded, stopped,
and torn open ; and a cry went through the crowd, that they had taken
the lord Kilwarden. It was answered with shouts for vengeance from
every tongue. His lordship, whose character had been made popular by
justice and the most signal humanity, thought that the sound of his
name would have been a safeguard among the people. He was, alas!
mistaken — he had miscalculated the temper of the rabble, and the
passions of human nature in their direst phase; or, more truly, he
was in total ignorance of the true nature of the infuriated disarray that
crowded round. He was not permitted long' suspense. Torn from
his carriage, he was pierced with thirty pikes. He is said to have
been pressed by the blood-thirsty avidity of the crowd against a door,
and, while writhing with numerous wounds, to have cried out, in his
agony, for a merciful and deadly thrust, to end his tortures. The
patriotic apologists for this and such deeds, have attempted to ex-
tenuate its atrocity, by a story which we shall take a future occasion
to tell, but which has no true application here. The point of it is, to
transfer the blame from the crowd, to the vindictive recollections of
one man. But the whole circumstances, however told, repel such a
solution, and render it unnecessary. It is rather beyond the charity
of history, to vindicate the fame of the perpetrators of a murder as
foul as ever disgraced the stained and empurpled records of human
nature; though we cannot pass without note, the perverse liberality
which dwells with indignant eloquence on the half-hangings and other
cruelties resorted to by vicious officials of police, and displays its cha-
rity by such apologies. With the accusations just alluded to, we fully
sympathize. The objects have been exaggerated for party purposes;
and this partly accounts for the inconsistency we have alleged. We
have glowed with indignation at the cruelties committed in the disguise
of justice. Even though the alleged half-hangings might not, wrong-
fully to the individual or to the law of justice, be superseded by more
complete, but sanctioned executions; yet were they justly to be re-
probated, as displays of the evil nature of the agents. These men
indulged the inherent cruelty of their natures; though there were
awful and indispensable necessities in that desperate crisis, which gave
76 POLITICAL SERIES. [FllTH
at least the shadow of a rightful sanction to their deeds. But such
extenuations are wholly foreign from the horrible tragedy of lord
Kilwarden's murder. The animosity of one man can neither explain
nor extenuate the scene. The unfortunate lord Kilwarden was accom-
panied by his daughter, and his nephew, the Rev. Mr Wolfe. The
daughter attempted to intercede for her father, and offered money.
The ignorance, as well as the brutality of the crowd, were displayed in
the reply: they "were looking for liberty, not plunder." She was
pulled from the carriage, and ordered to take herself out of the way.
The reverend Mr Wolfe thought to escape ; but he was followed, and
piked to death.
The time lost, and the notice attracted by these exploits, made it
hopeless that they should succeed in an attempt to surprise the castle.
To this main object of their meeting, they were urged by their leaders;
but the unfortunate Emmet must, at this painful and degrading moment,
deeply and agonizingly have been awakened from his romance of
patriotism to a true sense of the position into which he had so blindly
rushed. His lofty dream of a band of patriots had terminated in a
paltry rout of the vilest*cut-throats — most probably the lowest dregs of
the town, (to admit.more would be a slander on the Irish -peasantry,)
— following the same old instinct of all such base aggregations, from
the rising of Jack Cade, to his own. The horrible exploit they had
committed seemed to have roused their fury and self-confidence beyond
the control of leaders. From killing the chief justice, they naturally
proceeded to break the prisons. They took the reins in their own
hands, and marched off to the Marshalsea prison. Here they sur-
rounded and slaughtered a corporal ; but the guard, consisting of about
eight soldiers, turned out in their own defence; and the rabble, with a
cowardice worthy of the deed from which they came still reeking,
gave way and retreated, leaving several rebels dead upon the street.
After proceeding some distance, and an insignificant fray with the
watch and some constables, they came into contact with a picquet of
about fifty soldiers, who were detached to meet them towards Thomas
street. On seeing the military, the word was given to the pikemen to
charge. The soldiers were ordered to fire ; and, at the first volley, the
rebels turned and fled with precipitation. This put an end to the affair :
every one, leaders and men, turned to seek his own safety as he might.
The leaders, Emmet and his friends, with a few more of their offi-
cers, took their road towards the Wicklow hills. At an early hour
in the morning, they entered a farmer's house in Tallaght. They were
in the highest spirits, and exhibited a levity of character little consistent
with the disappointments of the night, or the horrors which had been
perpetrated in their names, or even with the slaughter and capture of
their wretched adherents. They played with their calamities with
the heroism of Sans Culottes — not inaptly assumed the character of
French generals — spoke gibberish to their entertainer — and evidently
were happy at the risk they had escaped. How far the more ardent
temper of Mr Emmet was sustained by the same spirit, we have
not the means to judge ; which we regret, because we think that no
moral trait should be lost of a story which ought to be so deeply in-
structive to Irishmen.
ROBERT EMMET. 77
In the meantime, the depot in Patrick street was found, by the
waste of arms and ammunition which lay' strewed before the house
since the previous evening, when they had been tossed out of the
stores to the mixed crowd. There were found 8,000 pikes, with up-
wards of 36,000 ball-cartridges, with rockets, grenades, scaling-ladders,
and all other such implements of attack and defence. Mr Emmet's
papers were discovered, among which was a proclamation to the
citizens, announcing freedom, and the end of British oppression. Pre-
parations enough were also found, to give a brilliant and imposing
exterior to success. Green flags and uniforms were found in such
abundance as the scanty finances of the conspirators, and the prudence
of tailors, would afford.
It was now the remaining object of those who cared for Mr Emmet,
either from private regard, or the hopes of " another day," that he
should escape from the kingdom. Mr Emmet's fate was crossed by
another ungoverned impulse, which his wayward and ardent temper
had received in the course of the proceeding incidents. During his
retirement at Rathfarnham, he had found free access to the home and
hospitality of Mr Curran, and^contracted a strong and mutual attach-
ment with his daughter, Miss Sarah Curran. Such a proceeding, it
is to be admitted, was inconsistent with discretion and honour. It
was clandestine, and under circumstances which should, on the part
of Mr Emmet, have suspended the prosecution even of an open
and avowed affection. But it is the excuse of the lady, that she
was young; of the gentleman, that he was too sanguine to be conside-
rate. She only saw the splendid mind, ennobled by aspirations, of the
value of which she had no just measure: he looked forward only to
success, which would repair the fault of a momentary deception. They
stood, in the thoughtlessness of their young and inexperienced breasts,
over a caldron of woes unutterable; — for her, broken-hearted agony,
and a life of sorrow; for him, remorse and a violent end, unredeemed
by any circumstance to adorn his memory.
While his friends were at work to secure his retreat, he could not
resist the impulse to seek a last farewell of the object of his affections.
For this he returned to lodgings which he had for some time previ-
ously occupied, in Harold's cross. There, in August, he was taken by
major Sirr.
Thus, a prisoner, his fate was fixed. There were in his case no
alleviating circumstances. The rebellion, which he had made such
exertions to excite, did not, like the former, grow out of any train of
long accumulating causes — it was no operation of the madness of the
time — it was the effort of a few individuals to renew and prolong the
crimes and sufferings of a people exhausted and subdued by the cala-
mitous inflictions of civil war. Its very failure was due to the apathy
and prudence, the fear, and the rueful experience of the country.
The leaders, few and unsupported, were only carried forward by the
delusion of their reason, and the ardour of their impulses, — as children
striving to keep up a play, when their seniors have grown tired of it.
But it was a game for lives. There was no plea for Mr Emmet but
the deep spirit of Quixotism, which was interwoven with the bright
and powerful qualities of his head and heart. He was a man who
78 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
would have stood calm on the last fragment of Ireland, in the wreck
of a dissolving world — whose passions and virtues did in nowise
belong to the region of low-born realities in which he was lost. For
him there was no redeeming angel in the furnace:* his fate must be
lamented, but it cannot be condemned.
On the particulars of his trial and death it is not necessary to dwell.
His defence of himself is spoken of as a model of eloquence unsurpas-
sed. There is a tradition, which we do not believe, of a singular proof
of indifference to the terrors of the scaffold. But there are some
deeply affecting circumstances, which can only be recited and heard
with pain, and on which we should not wish to dwell, but that a kind
of justice forbids the omission of anything that can relieve the narra-
tion of so unfortunate a career. In the last hours of his life, Mr
Emmet evinced a high indifference to self, and an earnest and fervent
care for the object of his latest affections, such as would have graced
a nobler end. Nor is the anxious effort he made in that fearful
moment, for the vindication of an imaginary honour, less indicative of
a noble strain of character.
When Mr Emmet was committed to prison, he called aside the
gaoler, and gave him all the money he had about his person, and en-
trusted him with a letter for Miss Curran, requesting its safe delivery.
The gaoler, as his duty prescribed, gave it to the attorney-general.
When Mr Emmet ascertained the circumstance, he immediately sent
to the authorities to offer, that, if they sent the letter according to its
address, he would plead guilty, and go to execution without a word ;
that otherwise, he would address the people. Of course, such a com-
promise could not be accepted.
Of the fate of Mr Emmet's accomplices, it remains to say a word.
Mr Russel might, according to every account, have escaped. On learn-
ing the arrest of Mr Emmet, he came to town, in the hope of rescuing
him by some means. He was arrested by the active vigilance of
major Sirr. On his trial, he displayed the firmness and enthusiasm
of his character. He vindicated his designs on a ground somewhat
distinct from the principles of Mr Emmet and other persons similarly
engaged. He appears to have been strongly impressed with some
fanatic notions, derived from his own interpretations of the Apoca-
lypse, and to have looked forward to the event of revolution as part of
the plan of Providence. He requested, on his trial, three days for the
completion of a work on the subject. He was condemned and exe-
cuted in Downpatrick. The same fate was shared by Drake and
Currey, two of his accomplices. The rest were afterwards pardoned.
As we have frequently had occasion to make mention of Mr Russel,
it -may have some interest to be mentioned, that he was the son of a
respectable gentleman, an officer in the army, and afterwards master
of the Royal Hospital at Kilmainham. He was himself early in the
army, and served at Bunker's-hill. After the American war, he was
* The reader may recollect the affecting linos of Mr Moore : —
" Thou hast called me thine angel in moments of bliss;
Still thine angel I'll be, in the horrors of this ;
Through the furnace unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too."
PERIOD.] ARTHUR WOLFE, LORD VISCOUNT KILWARDEN 79
placed on the half-pay, and became the friend and colleague of Tone.
His leisure was for a time occupied in theological studies, for which
liis previous education had not prepared him. With a sanguine and
gloomy turn of mind, he became a fanatic. Without judgment, know-
ledge, or any talent but that of language — a fluency the more prompt,
because unconstrained by reason, — he naturally found his level in the
councils of the ignorant enthusiasts who then gave their main impulse
to the popular passions.
There was, among the persons whose names or deeds demand no
memorial, engaged in these disturbances, a man of the name of Dwyer,
who, at the head of a small but desperate banditti, had remained in
arms, in the county of Wicklow, from the previous rebellion. This
person was supposed to possess an entire influence over the peasantry
in that county; and overtures were made to him by the party of Mr
Emmet. He is said to have replied, that " he would not commit his
brave men on the faith or good conduct of the rabble of Dublin: if,
however, they could gain any advantage, or that he should see the
green flag flying over the castle, he would be at hand to aid them."
Some further incidents, connected with this narrative, will be found
in the folio \ving memoir.
&vtl)ur SJSolfe, 2.0V& Utecount ItUfoarttem
HORN A.D. 1739. — DIED A. D. 1808.
ARTHUR WOLFE was the eldest son of Mr John Wolfe of Forenaghts,
in the county of Kildare. He received his education in the university
of Dublin; and, having been called to the bar, soon rose to eminence
in his profession.
In 1787> he was appointed solicitor-general — attorney-general in-
1789.
As first law-officer of the crown in Ireland, he was not less dis-
tinguished for his ability than for the humanity which obtained for
him a well-merited and honourable popularity, won without any com-
promise of right or justice, and by no vain or vile prostration of
his abilities to the vices and follies of the multitude. Of this, many
incidental proofs are recorded.
In 1798, he was raised to the dignity of chief justice of King's
Bench; and, in the same year, created lord Kil warden of Newlands, in
the county Dublin. In 1800, he was advanced in the peerage, as vis-
count Kilwarden of Kilwarden. In the next year, he was appointed
vice-chancellor of the university of Dublin.
The memory of lord Kilwarden obtains its chief claim on our his-
torical recollection by the event and the circumstances of his death,
reflecting the highest honour on him, as it would dishonour — if they
were not below the level of dishonour itself — on the wretched mis-
creants by whom he was murdered.
His lordship had been, since the former rebellion, known to entertain
lively fears of assassination. When attorney-general, the mildest dis-
charge of his duty had raised enmities against his person, which the
80 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
duties of chief judge in a criminal court were not likely to diminish;
and so much alive were his apprehensions, that, up to the last year of
his life, from ninety-eight, he had continued to pass his nights in
town, from the fear of some attack beyond its limits. His country-
house was about four miles from Dublin, on the side from which the
rebels were crowding in, on the 23d of July, 1 803, from Kildare ; and
towards evening, the family were alarmed by a succession of alarm-
ing rumours. Either the accustomed fear returned to his lordship's
mind, or, as some have supposed, he was to attend a privy council; but
he set out at a late hour of the evening for town, in a post-chaise, with
his daughter and nephew.
They passed, without interruption or alarm, along the solitary roads
towards the Kilmainham side of Dublin. On reaching town, he re-
solved on entering at the nearest point, from the impression that all
danger of interruption would cease on gaining the more populous and
public streets: hence, instead of entering by the barracks, he ordered
his driver to pass through St James street and Thomas street, which
• were at the moment in the actual occupation of the rebels. It was ten
o'clock, and, it is said, more than usually dark, as the carriage entered
Thomas street, about two hours after sunset. The rebels had at the
time wholly thrown off all control, and been heated by several casual-
ties, in which they had committed some unprovoked assassinations.
The carriage was stopped within twenty yards of the entrance to
Thomas street, and the party within dragged out. His lordship's
cries for mercy were disregarded; and a violent contention took
place among the murderers, for the savage gratification of wounding'
him. One gentleman who was present was slain, for an attempt to save
him. His nephew was slain in an effort to escape, as has been con-
jectured, from his being found twenty yards farther on. Miss Wolfe,
allowed to escape, made her wray to the castle; where she arrived, in a
state bordering on frenzy, with the dreadful story.
It was at this time that, the alarm having been fully spread, some
small parties of soldiers were collected, and brought forward to check
the further movements of those misguided ruffians. They were in
consequence suddenly alarmed, and compelled by their terrors to de-
camp. Some persons who had been terrified witnesses of the scene,
among whom was at least one servant of his lordship, ventured to ap-
proach the bloody spot. They found him frightfully mangled, but yet
breathing, and conveyed him to the nearest watch-house, in which,
stretched on such a bed as the place afforded, he lived in pain for
half-an-hour. While he lay contending with his mortal agony, and
in this lonely and forsaken condition, a person who stood near him,
roused to indignation by his pitiable state, exclaimed that he " hoped
the assassins would be executed next day!" The truly noble reply of
lord Kilwarden was, " Murder must be punished ; but let no man
suffer for my death, but on a fair trial, and by the laws of his country"
— words which, as lord Avonmore truly said, " ought to be engraven on
his tombstone in letters of gold, and which deserve to be transmitted
to posterity as the motto of the family to which he was so great an
honour, and so bright an ornament."
PERIOD.] DR PATRICK DUIGENAN. 81
H3r Patrick IBufgtnam
BORN A. D. 1735. - DIED A, D. 1816.
DR PATRICK DUIGENAN is said to have been the son of a peasant of
the county of Leitrim. His parents are represented to have been of
the Roman church. His conversion, according- to the same account,
was due to a Protestant clergyman, who kept a school, and had ob-
served his early signs of superior intellectual power. From the school
of this gentleman, he entered the university of Dublin, where he
obtained a scholarship, and, in course of time, a fellowship. He took
one of the two lay fellowships allowed by the regulations, and was
called to the bar.
When Mr Hutchinson was appointed provost, Mr Duigenan took
an active and leading part in the manifestation of that discontent
which was the general and just sense of the university on an appoint-
ment so inappropriate. The consequences we have already mentioned,
in our notice of Provost Hutchinson. Mr Duigenan displayed his strong
but coarse satirical powers, in a series of squibs and pamphlets; was
challenged, and took the field with a loaded blunderbuss; which so
astonished and alarmed the opposite party, as to put a quiet end to the
rencounter.
In 1785, he was appointed king's advocate, and judge of the pre-
rogative court; and in 1790, he was elected member of the Irish
parliament.
From this last-mentioned event, his name is largely mixed with
those political incidents which have been noticed in the preceding
pages. We cannot afford to re-enter on those topics, and shall there-
fore briefly notice such occasions as gave matter for the active appli-
cation of the doctor's talents. With respect to his history, there is
one point of very peculiar importance. We have little notice of his
life and character, that does not come from the hands of his enemies ;
and it is a consequence, that nearly every assertion which affects his
character is to be received with the utmost distrust.
He is charged with a fierce animosity to the members of the church
of Rome; of which there appears no proof, but the strenuous opposi-
tion which he gave to their claims in parliament. This opposition is
to be accounted for on the grounds of policy, so very strongly urged
in his speeches, and altogether unanswered by his opponents at the
several periods ; while the fact that he married a lady of that persua-
sion, and kept a chaplain in his own house for her, affords a very
striking indication of an unprejudiced temper, and of affections dis-
engaged from such feelings.
There is no doubt that his political conduct, both as a writer and as
a speaker, was marked by some disregard of the forms of courtesy pre-
served by others. He did not wield the keen and polished scalping-
kuife of Mr Grattan; nor could he, like Mr Curran, sport in glanc-
ing discharges of wit. The doctor's mind was not more powerful to
apprehend, than it was simple and earnest in the vindication of poli-
tical truths. With a clearness in the comprehension pf the real state
VOL. vi. F
82 POLITICAL SERIES. [Firm
and prospects of the country, and a perception of political causes and
consequences, such as none of his able antagonists nad any pretension
to, he listened with impatience and indignation to singularly powerful
statements, which were all founded on the most complicated miscon-
ceptions both of fact and principle, arid which were calculated to do
mischief to the country in two ways, by exciting1 the people, and by
deceiving the government. Hence it was that there was a coarseness
in his attacks, and a violence which mere party activity never could
excite. Dr Duigenan was in earnest.
He was fierce in his attacks on Mr Grattan. It is to bo admitted
that this great orator displayed, in the latter period of his political
life, strong proofs of an understanding that could gather wisdom from
experience, and rise clear above the violent prejudices and sympathies
of the earlier part of his career. But, in the Irish parliament, his
close, nervous, and pointed statements, were but too often the echoes
of excited popular passion and prejudice — the suggestions of those
who made a trade of excitement; by their force and warmth, reflecting
back power and sanction upon the delusions, to which they gave a
voice, and the stamp of a higher currency. If even the statements made
by Mr Grattan, in that period, were to be fully allowed, the indiscrimi-
mite violence of his denunciations was adapted to effect more evil than
good could have resulted from his success. He wanted, and his
party wanted, what none can be censured for the want of, a statesman-
like sense of the real relations of political and constitutional facts.
Without attributing any very extraordinary powers of intellect to
the subject of this memoir, we would claim for him, in some degree,
those which were wanting to many of his superiors in genius. He was
profoundly and extensively informed — he was master of much of Un-
wisdom of experience; and he brought a strong sagacity to bear on
the questions then agitating the Irish public. The consequences were,
not only a strong and direct opposition to the popular parties, but to
their principal abettors and parliamentary supporters. Other men,
less strenuous and less consistent, have had some admissions in their
favour; and for some, their friendships have secured at least some partial
courtesy. But Dr Duigenan's life and memory consist in a fierce and
stout opposition to the popular parties in Ireland; and, as all our
historians have hitherto belonged to these, his name has passed into a
by-word of reproach.
As to the main incidents of his parliamentary life, they are nearly
identified with the various topics already noticed in our pages. One
of the most remarkable efforts of Dr Duigenan, as a debater, was per-
haps on the occasion of a bill proposed in the Irish parliament by
secretary Hobart, February 1793, for the relief of the Roman Catho-
lics. On this occasion, the doctor spoke at considerable length,
in reply to that gentleman, and to Sir H. Langrishe, his seconder.
His argument showed that he had closely sifted the history of that
body, and looked prospectively to the probable workings of such a
measure. We could not, without tedious detail, go into his argu-
ments; but it would be a wrongful omission not to notice that events,
Jong after his time, have, to a great extent, confirmed the deductions of
his reasoning. If he is accused of an unqualified support of government,
PrRion.] DR PATRICK DUIGENAN. 83
it must be recollected that the bill which he resisted was a govern*-
went measure ; and for those who have accused him of animosity
against the Roman Catholics, we may let the accused have at least the
benefit of his own strong and plain denial, for which we transcribe the
concluding- sentences of his speech. "I utterly, from my heart, dis*
claim the operation on my mind, of any partial or interested views, iu
thus forming- and delivering- my sentiments on this occasion In
thus publicly declaring- my sentiments, I even do some violence to my
private feelings and affections, as I live in the strictest intimacy and
friendship with several Roman Catholics, for whom I have the sincerest
regard and esteem, knowing- them to be persons of the greatest worth,
integrity, and honour."
Another question in which Dr Duigenan is mentioned to have taken
an active part, was that of the legislative union between the two
countries. For such a measure the minds of all considerate statesmen
jiud politicians had been long preparing. The policy of such a
measure, as affecting the national interests of Ireland, had been
generally recognised in the commencement of the eighteenth century,
when it was rejected by the commercial jealousies of England. It
was, indeed, evident enough, that a country so far behind in civil
progress — so inferior in wealth, population, civilization, and all that
constitutes the existence of a nation — -could not .stand by itself in th«<
jarring- community of Europe. It was as plain, that it could not be
joined in any partial relation with a country such as England, on any
terms, however limited, without a real and substantial subordination.
This, no conventional understanding, no specific agreement, no legal
provision, could prevent. It could not be prevented ; and half a cen-
tury of the most powerful effort, conducted by much ability, did not
substantially diminish it. It could not be done away by acts of parlia-
ment, or by the most explicit renunciations on one side, and the most
violent assertions on the other. It was the operation of circumstances
not within the control of institutions, or the will of men. It was a
condition of the social nature of man, as affected by the actual state
of human progress.
Wise men felt the force and reality of this great truth; and if wis-
dom and virtue were inseparable, a more strict and diffusive union
between the countries would, from an early time, have been the aspi-
ration of the patriot. Of such a union, the effects might be very slow
mid remote; but they would be certain as nature. A process of
equalization would commence, and proceed uniformly, but limited by
the existence of numerous retarding causes. This advance would
also be accelerated in its progress by the removal of obstacles, and
by the accession of advantages.
But, besides the reluctance of England, there was in Ireland a great
combination of causes to retard the introduction of the more inti-
mate and equalizing connection here described. On these it will be
-useful to make a few remarks.
First, there was the reluctance of the Irish aristocracy, who, iu
the barbarous isolation of Ireland, possessed a degree of political
power inconsistent with the more direct and immediate interposition
of English authority, opinion, civilization, and commercial enterprise.
S4 POLITICAL SERIES.
Secondly, the system of jurisdiction and opinion, which placed Ireland
under the jurisdiction of the Roman see, contained a powerful combi-
nation of obstacles. Thirdly, the influence of a powerful, but wrongly-
instructed public feeling1, which arose from national pride and anti-
pathy. And lastly, the growth and concentration of a brilliant and
effective parliamentary opposition; the constitution of which, it has
been one of the objects of the previous memoirs, in some measure, to
illustrate. From the operation of this last, combined with some other
causes, also largely discussed in these pages, other still more effective
obstacles arose towards the end of the century. Of the two last alone,
it will be necessary to speak more distinctly.
The idea of carrying out in Ireland a distinct application of the
elementary provisions of the British constitution, was the great, but
somewhat premature, view of Flood, Grattan, and the lesser lights
who accompanied or followed in their train. They were orators,
lawyers, theorists, and, above all, patriots; living in the sunshine of
the public gaze; heated by the popular sentiments which they had
contributed to raise; having in their hearts and brains, though un-
consciously, a theoretic state of things — a Utopian Ireland, imaged
to their understanding in the reflected light of Blackstone, the
British debates, and the history of England. To this they squared
or rounded all their thoughts, and played Walpole or Chatham on
their lesser stage. To give effect to the spirit of party, thus
awakened, dilated, and dignified, great occurrences contributed.
Of this nature was the whole history of the volunteers, their poli-
tical triumphs, the results on public feeling, and the wide-spread dis-
affection which so closely followed. Giving and receiving mutual
excitement, the popular orators and the popular factions supplied
each other with sanction and accumulating vitality. Pride entered
largely into the animosities of a generous but barbaric race; and
flatteries and prejudices, as fabulous as fairy tales, gave no light help
to nourish the unenlightened antipathies of Irishmen against each
other, and against England.
Such is the most brief and summary statement we can offer of the
great leading obstacles to a union.
But to all thinking and observing men, whose minds were not
absorbed into the whirl of party and faction, it was plain enough that
the interests of Ireland absolutely required such a vital and intimate
union. In the strife of the powers of Europe for territory, Ireland
could not stand alone : in the wars with France, this could not, for
obvious reasons, be consistent with the safety of either England or
Ireland. With unequal resources, inferior wealth, and a compara-
tively slight and barbarous population, she could not stand, or be per-
mitted to stand, on a commercial equality with England. Under the
same rule, having common laws, and common political interests and
government, she could not be allowed to exert a strong political ani-
mosity of opposition, exhibiting itself even in the commonest matters
of form, and not obscurely or inaudibly asserting the same in more
essential matters. Such a state of formal combination and actual
opposition, virtually amounted to a separation. To rule Ireland at
all, resources were used which were unconstitutional in their nature,
PEBIOD.] on PATRICK DLIGENAN. 85
but absolutely indispensable ; for as a separate polity, hostile in its
temper and spirit, Ireland could not be permitted to remain. It must
have been reconquered or ruled ; and it could only be ruled by force
or faction, tyranny or corruption.
If, however, there were apparent reasons on more general grounds
of English policy, there were some far more imperatively requiring
consideration with regard to the immediate interests of Ireland.
There then had grown up a violent animosity between the opposite
coasts of the two islands. Without contributing to each other's
interests, they were affected by rival feelings in commerce. There
were growing up seeds of hatred which, at some period, would have
the direst and most violent operation. Ireland was augmenting her
demands for concessions, which the people of England considered
as sacrifices. Such a state of things was not to be continued.
One way alone was calculated to meet all these present and worse
prospective evils. And this was such a union of the countries as
should, to all purposes, make them one in interest, in law and con-
stitution.
To bring this about, the prejudice and ignorance of the public
were to be dealt with, and the fierce and proud resistance of those
whose glory it was to keep up and feed the vanities and delusions
of the populace. In the British parliament, the difficulties were com-
paratively slight; but, it was in Ireland that obstacles were to be
overcome of no common force and magnitude.
A great measure was to be effected for the advantage, safety, and
welfare of both countries, but most of Ireland, which had then so
much to gain, and so little to give. The means by which it was
brought about have been censured. On these, it is, for very obvious
reasons, not our wish to say much. Corruption was largely resorted
to, and cannot, on the grounds which alone we would desire to take,
be defended. But fairness demands some allowances, and the removal
of some fallacies.
For those gentlemen who absolutely sold their votes, we have no
defence to offer — they betrayed the trust of their constituents, or the
known duty of their station. There were, it is true, many whose
personal interests had an insensible influence at all times on their party
conduct; and the less strict principle and inferior light of those days,
such persons might easily be induced to see with the eyes of their
superiors. It is not to be assumed that all members of parliament
could, in that day, untie all the knots of every great and complex
question of commerce and state policy. The reasons on the side of
government were not so inferior in force, as to leave it clear that the
anti-unionists were right. And it was but conformable with the vicious
system, long naturalized by necessity in Ireland, that persons even who
thought with government, should derive personal advantages from
their compliances. Now, we have no doubt that this very defensible
class of supporters includes many whose names lie under the heavier
reproach of an assumed bargain. But these we only mention by the
way. Had the union been a popular measure, and even indifferent in
this respect, the accusations and reproach which have been lavished
would not have been heard of— they would have been referred to the
86 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
long-established abuses of Irish administration, and the ordinary
mediocrity of public virtue. But we lay no stress on these considera-
tions, and only entered upon them with a view to the charges against
the government which effected ihe union. There are three points
to he taken together, of which little more than the bare statement
ought to be required. The measure appeared expedient; there was
but one way to effect it; and that way was one which, though not
absolutely conformable with abstract principles of political rectitude,
was in the strictest conformity with the usage of all times. In Ire-
land, the wholly anomalous disposition and working of the polity of the
constitution, which was a mixture of high civilization and barbarism,
of English law, French republicanism, covert papal jurisdiction, the
local despotism of the wide-spread confederacies of the many, the
petulant opposition of the demagogues, the self-interested intrigues of
the government supporters; — all these causes together, composing a
constitution compacted out of all the abuses incidental to civil society,
demanded much special contrivance and management for the applica-
tion of any government whatever. It was easy for Mr Grattan, and
his good and able companions, to give force to their harangues by
talking the language of the British constitution. And, considering
them simply as an opposition, it was all fair enough. It must also be
confessed that it must have operated as a useful check on a system
which, from its nature, involved irregularity, and, from the nature of
man, abuse. We find no fault, but simply object to the vicious echo
of unfair and inapplicable objections. The government were com-
pelled to govern, as all governments must, by the use of the forces
in actual operation in the country. They had not, as then existed, and
still exists in England, a rightly-informed mass of public opinion,
itself the time-built result of the British constitution, at their hack.
At the same time, to constrain and enforce their sound decision, they
were armed with no well-working system of institutions. They had
to deal with a mixed medley of powers, all unconstitutional. Insulted
and degraded by the dictation of an armed populace, who themselves
claimed legislative authority, and dictated laws, the parliament was
but a mart of intrigue, and an arena of faction. There existed an
abusive instrumentality — the only effective principle which could be
applied, in a defective, irregular, and imperfectly organized constitu-
tion of things. It was perhaps for the first time applied to a purpose
of unqualified good to Ireland, and has in that single instance been
immortalized by very exag-gerated reproach.
To govern such a country, in such times, demanded the indispens-
able use of those instrumentalities which constituted the whole avail-
able means of resistance to the headlong impulses of the people. It
was an act of wisdom to use these for the purpose of sweeping away
the vicious state of things, which made them thus indispensable. An»
influence which had its basis in corruption, was the fundamental hold-
fast of Ireland ; by which, for at least twenty years, it hung suspended
over the abyss of revolution. By corruption, the union was carried — the
venality of some, the accessibility to influence of many; sordid re-
sources, it is true, but used by the minister to work out a purpose
essential to the safety and welfare of Ireland.
PERIOD.] Dll PATRICK DUIGENAN. 87
Mr Pitt bad no selfish end in view; and they who will take the
trouble to study the public discussions of the subject, which yet re-
main in many forms on record, will admit that the measure of the
union was recommended on sufficient grounds of sound policy to ren-
der such charges unnecessary and vexatious. If there were those (for
we have only assumed it for argument) who can be said to have bar-
gained away their public duty, it is no defence for them to say that
they were unintentionally right; but we are at the same time per-
suaded, that the heavy weight of political odium which they have thus
incurred is in no way connected with the assumed or actual turpitude
of political dishonesty. All popular faction, hut especially in this
country, deals in the most unsparing and indiscriminate imputation.
The merest abnegation of political opinion is enough to draw from
its cloud the spark of rancor, inveterate and unsparing. Nor is this a
matter of reproach: the real burden of the charge is, not the means
by which the union was effected; the union itself is the corpus de-
licti— the head and front of the ofFence.
That there existed ample reasons to render the union apparently
essential to the welfare of Ireland, is the whole amount of our propo-
sition. We enter upon the consideration only so far as* concerns our
own immediate office — the rectification of those fallacies which affect
the reputation of many individuals whose memory deserves better from
their countrymen.
If subsequent events have been really such as to warrant a different
view of the real merits of that great measure, — so far as we are con-
cerned, we may be satisfied to repel any inference to the discredit of
its main proposers and supporters. It may be right to say, that we
cannot concur in any such view. It would be perhaps construed
into a miserable want of frankness, if we avoided the direct affirma-
tion of an opinion which none of our readers can doubt. And there-
fore, without entering on a discussion which is here uncalled for, we
shall give one paragraph to the distinct statement of our opinions.
We could offer many reasons for thinking that the union has been
actually the means of opening many civil, and many commercial ad-
vantages; while it placed Ireland, for the first time, in possession of
the real benefits of the British constitution, till then but a theory — the
romance of oratory. It also, to a very considerable extent, diminished
or neutralized the action of numerous vicious and irregular workings,
which retarded all advances. It introduced the first steps of a spirit of
British feeling and civilization, by increasing the communication be-
tween the countries. All these advantages can be fully proved in
theory, and, to a great extent, verified by the actual results. That
the whole extent of the proposed advantages has not in every respect
been attained, must be admitted. For this, there are some evident
reasons. In the first place, the measure, like all great and extensive
measures of change — like all great revolutions (for it was a revolution,
the real result of the united Irishmen, and their more sanctioned
abettors) — was attended with its concomitant disadvantages, though all
in their own nature exceedingly light and transient, if not aggravated
and perpetuated by other causes. The same popular temper, the
same party turbulence, and the same inveterate divisions, which had
S3 POLITICAL SERIES [Firm
previously to the union, aggravated every evil, could not be expected
to subside, upon the mere event of the union. Against this measure,
every effort was tried to raise and maintain a feeling of public exas-
peration; but, above all, the real and direct operation of the union
was counteracted to the utmost possible extent, by the raising of the
most exasperating party questions, and by the instrumentality of a small
body of men, who pursued their objects by the sole agency of popular
feeling and passion. How far popular agitation should have been re-
sorted to, for any purpose, would be a distinct question. We can con-
ceive a danger, so counterbalanced by considerations of justice, as to
warrant the risk of incurring it ; but our affirmation is this, that, owing
to the continued agitation of the Irish people, the most important bene-
fits to be expected from the union have been counteracted to an incal-
culable extent. Commerce has been repelled — absenteeism has been
largely occasioned, and fully justified — law has been weakened and dis-
armed— a perpetual conspiracy nourished — the most savage murders so
countenanced by the populace, and so directly traceable to their known
opinions, as to render them ostensibly the act of a land "where law
protects not life." Not to multiply such facts. Such are not the pro-
cesses from which civilization has ever grown : such is not the state
of things from which it ever will grow.
While the country continues to be in the arbitrary jurisdiction of
a populace — under whatever name, whiteboys or ribbonmen, — and
while any denomination of the better classes think it essential to their
purposes, to carry their points by means of this unlawful agency,
there will be no end to the sufferings of every class in Ireland. They
only will have peace, who have nothing to defend, or who can afford
to live elsewhere.
We have availed ourselves of the known opinions of Dr Duigenan,
for the last statement of political opinion which we shall offer in this
work. So far as we can see our way, in the few political memoirs
which remain, we shall have it in our power to refer the reader to the
statements already made.
Dr Duigenan rose to the stations for which he was, by his talents
and attainments, pre-eminently qualified. He died in 1816; at which
time he was a member of the privy council; judge of the prerogative
court; vicar-general of Armagh, Meath, and Elphin; king's advocate-
general of the high-ccfurt of admiralty. He was also professor of
civil law in the university.
He was a man of strong intellectual powers, and exceeded by none
of the many able men of his day in those practical applications of rea-
son which are called common sense, and which, as the word is gener-
ally (though wrongly) taken, deserves a better name. He was not
possessed of genius, or of the lesser endowments which are considered
as genius. He was not an orator, and had little command of the arti-
fices of persuasion or sophistry, or of the flowers and graces which
captivate the hearer's fancy. These endowments he did not possess,
or much appreciate. He had a coarse mind, impelled by a sanguine
temperament ; and treated the sophistries of his antagonists with scorn,
without being even aware that he wounded their pride, and offended
the taste of his hearers. But he was a man of the kindliest nature,
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. GEORGE PONSONBY. 89
and wholly free from the malevolence which will always be imputed
to those who offend the public and its favourites.
He has been charged with sycophancy. We have not the materials
for his defence. But the charges of the writers who were opposed
to him may be dismissed lightly, for they are too heedlessly made.
Those gentlemen who find no epithet of scorn too severe for those
who touch with a breath of disrespect the memory of rebels and con-
spirators, are keen to find flaws in the characters of the honest and
wise men who saved the country from their follies and crimes, and
prompt to put base constructions, wherever they can by any stretch
apply.
tRcorge
BORN A. D. 1755. — DIED A. D. 1817.
THE subject of the present memoir was born in March, 1755. His
father, the Hon. John Ponsonby, son to the first earl of Besborough,
was a man of high eminence in his time, having filled the office of
speaker to the house of commons.
Mr George Ponsonby received his education at Cambridge, where
he obtained considerable distinction. In 1780, he was called to the
bar in Ireland. For some years, he was remarkable chiefly for an appa-
rent remissness in the avocations of his profession ; but circumstances,
which had their origin in the arrangements of government, having
operated to reduce his income, the effect was to alter the character of
his pursuits, and determine him to the laborious and diligent pursuit
of the law.
Mr Ponsonby, having found it necessary to enter upon a course of
serious exertion, soon attained the eminence due to his high and dis-
tinguished abilities, both as a lawyer and as a member of the Irish
house of commons. But it is by his political life that he is best known,
and best entitled to our notice. Deprived of a post of considerable
emolument, to make way for Mr Marcus Beresford, (of which Mr
Coppinger had been similarly deprived, to make way for himself,) Mr
Ponsonby soon made the government aware that it had added another
formidable name to the list of its opponents. From that time forward
(the lieutenancy of the marquis of Buckingham), Mr Ponsonby was an
active and able ally of the party of which we have already had to
commemorate so many illustrious individuals.
When lord Clare was raised to the chancery bench, he presented
his brief-bag to Mr Ponsonby, though his political enemy. The in-
cident ascertains the high character of Mr Ponsonby in his profession,
as it cannot be otherwise explained.
To follow him in the detail of this portion of his life, would involve
the tedious repetition of topics already discussed so far as there can
be any object in their discussion. The main questions in which he
took a prominent part are known by the mention of his party: his
last act, as a member of the Irish parliament, was opposition to the
90 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
In 1 806, a change of parties occurred, favourable to Mr Pousonby.
The coalition between lord Grenville and Mr Fox, raised him to the
dignity of lord chancellor. The administration by which he had been
appointed was soon dissolved, and he retired with the pension of
£4000 a-year.
He now commenced a new career, by obtaining a seat in the
British house of commons. There he quickly became the leader of tlie
opposition — a clear and strong proof of eminent qualifications. In the
British parliament, his reputation as a debater stood high: he was clear,
plain, and forcible. His style was strictly of the logical order; and
though not remarkable for the ornaments or artifices of the rheto-
rician, yet polished and correct. He was noted for the facility and
method of his replies, sometimes coming forward towards the close of
a long debate, and meeting in duo order the several arguments of
numerous adversaries. He has also been justly praised for his fairness
and candour in opposition. It is hardly necessary to mention that his
political conduct was, in the main, regulated by the principles of the
party to which he had so long' been an ornament.
In the year 1817, during a debate, he was attacked by sonie
paralytic affection. In a few days after, hu died in London, and was
buried at Kensington.
Siv Sjerculeg Sangrt^e, 33ari,
DIED 1811.
IF we were to distribute our space in strict proportion to the intrinsic
merits of the subject, not many of his eminent contemporaries might
claim a more full memoir than Sir Hercules Langrishe. During forty
years, he represented the borough of Knocktopher in the Irish par-
liament, in which he sustained, throughout, a high character among
the small knot of talented men with whom he was numbered. The
few of his speeches which have survived, though sadly mangled in the
imperfect reports of that period, display the mind and powers of an
orator of the first rank. He was a whig in his politics, and strove,
according to the views then entertained by his party, for the improve-
ment and elevation of his country.
It would be a needless repetition to enter upon the numerous ques-
tions in which his talent and patriotism were signalized. He was not
less respectable as a country gentlemen, than distinguished as a pub-
lic man. Having been for a considerable period resident in the vici-
nity of which he had been a conspicuous ornament — though long after
his time, — we have personally been enabled to observe the recollections
of affection and respect which have long outlived their object. His
refined and classic wit — his social virtues — the happy and graceful
facility of his pen — were remembered and praised by those who could
well appreciate the better as well as the more brilliant qualifications
of such a man. Some specimens of his poetry have been preserved, and
may be seen in Mr Grattan's Life, by his sou. They are full of wit,
character, and spirit ; indicate a mastery of the resources of scholarship,
' SIR PHILIP FRANCIS. 91
then so important a part of literature; and, we would say, place their
author in the foremost rank of the poets of the social or the political
circles of a time when the faculty of verse was still somewhat of a
distinction.
Sir Hercules belonged to a day, and was one of the brightest orna-
ments of a circle, which, for good or evil — its lustre or its darkness-—
the world is not .likely soon to see again. It must be owing to no
common combination of incidents, that so many persons so brilliantly
endowed, and so rich in the excellencies which give a charm to pri-
vate life, should have fallen so closely into the same circle. The sub-
ject of this brief memoir; the late chief-justice Bushe; Grattan; Rich-
ard Power, whose mind, the seat of all refinement, obtained for him
the appellation of "The Classic;" the recently departed Sir John
Power, whose fortune placed him in the centre of the circle, and
whose head and heart adorned his prosperity, and would have digni-
iied any condition; with many talented and worthy persons, not to bo
named, because their names belong- to private life alone — and others,
who still remain; were the individual components of a brilliant
society, often brought together by the hospitality of Kilfane. In Kil-
i'ane, or at Knocktopher or Floodhall, was frequently assembled, from
every quarter, the grace, wit, poetry, and talent of Ireland, in her proud-
est day of talented men; and all that can charm and wing the hour —
in itself too swift — combined to elevate and adorn the social scene.
Happy, if such scenes were not as transitory as rare! and fortunate,
if they over whom they breathe the fairest illusions of a world in
which all is largely mixed with illusion, are not lulled into forgetful-
ness of the realities which surround them and await them! But wo
forget our " brief."'
Sir Hercules was created a baronet in 1777. He was the first
who endeavoured to obtain the relaxation of the penal statutes against
the members of the papal church in Ireland, in 1792 and 1793.
He took a conspicuous part in the debate, in May, 1782, on the
duke of Portland's address; in 1783, on Mr Flood's motion for re-
form. To reform, he was a consistent and steady opponent; and, we
think, on just grounds, justly applicable at the time.
Sir Hercules died in 1811.
BORN 1740. — DIED 1818.
Sin PHILIP FJBANCIS was the son of Dr Francis, the translator of
Horace. He was born in Dublin, but received his education in Eng-
land, whither he was sent in his tenth year. At the age of sixteen, he
obtained a clerkship in one of the government offices, where he was
taken into favour and employment by the elder Pitt, through whose
influence he was speedily put on the path of honourable exertion.
Having resigned an appointment in the war-office, by reason of some
92 POLITICAL SERIES. (FlFTH
misunderstanding with lord Harrington, he spent some time on his
travels, in 1772.
In the following year, he was appointed one of the members of the
council, in the Indian government, at Bengal. In that station, his
quarrels with Mr Hastings, the governor, are matter of history. As
the other two members of council held, or fell into his views, which
were opposed to that of the governor, Mr Francis was thus placed in
a most anomalous position — one, indeed, not easily reconciled with any
notion of an efficient administration. The consequence was such as
could not be avoided. The governor's power was in a measure para-
lyzed; and as he was placed in a most difficult position nothing but the
most consummate possession of the qualifications which the juncture
required, could enable him to act effectively for the safety of the Bri-
tish empire in India. Mr Hastings was bold, enterprising, prompt,
dexterous, and unscrupulous : his conduct gave ample scope for oppo-
sition. Mr Francis tried his temper to the utmost ; and private
causes of animosity were mingled with and gave force and bitterness
to those which were official. Mr Hastings frankly insulted his
opponent, by a letter of the most unsparing reproach; and in the
duel which followed, Mr Francis was severely wounded. He resigned
his office, of which the salary was £10,000 a-year, and returned to
England, to prepare new troubles for his enemy.
The history of the impeachment of Mr Hastings needs no repeti-
tion. It has been already stated as a portion of the life of its illustrious
conductor. With reference to Mr Francis, it may be enough to state,
that he had, with the keen apprehension of enmity, observed and trea-
sured up the faults of Mr Hastings ; and, from his local knowledge,
was qualified to give the most full effect to their representation. He
supplied the leaders of the impeachment with materials, added im-
pulse, and contributed to give weight to their accusations. It was by
Mr Burke, and Fox, and their associates, considered desirable to
avail themselves of the knowledge of Mr Francis, by his appointment
on the committee. But this, the justice of the house of commons
would not suffer. It would, indeed, have been deeply to be regretted,
that a just impeachment, which afterwards became the object of great
unpopularity, should have been entangled with so questionable a pro-
ceeding. The peculiar acrimony of Mr Francis, was perhaps not then
so well understood: it would have added much to the reproach. Mr
Francis himself made, upon the occasion, a speech of great power, and
remarkable for that characteristic combination of refinement, sim-
plicity, energy, and point, which have subjected him to the imputation
of being the author of Juuius's Letters.
Mr Francis possessed too deeply the spirit of defiance, to be otherwise
than an opponent to government; too much spleen and ambition, to be
otherwise than a discontented man. He was among the first pro-
jectors of the reform association, called the friends of the people, by
a misnomer which never has been fairly examined; but which, in
most cases, might be corrected not amiss by the term, enemies of their
rulers. His notions of reform were, like most such systems, erroneous
inferences from a narrowed view of superficial truths — the best defini-
tion, perhaps, of plausibility.
PERIOD.] SIR PHILIP FRANCIS. 93
Mr Francis was, it is said, once on the point of being sent out to
India, as governor-general. In 1806, he was made a knight of the
order of the bath.
The main subject of his parliamentary speeches was India. In
1814, he seems to have retired from parliament in disgust, and with
the resolution of taking no further part in public life. He died
in 1818.
It remains to offer a few remarks on a much controverted, but still
undecided subject. Was Sir Philip Francis the author of the Letters
of Junius ? To enter fully on the discussion of the arguments for
this opinion, would be an unpardonable waste of our limited space. It
may be enough to state in what they consist, and to apprize the reader
that they remain unanswered, but by the general objection, that they
are not quite conclusive on the point; and that the inference is re-
pelled on a different ground, which is not quite so satisfactory. Such
is the state of a question not now to be decided.
The arguments in the affirmative of this question, are the follow-
ing: That the style of the letters is similar to that of Sir Philip's
speeches and known writings; while both are very peculiar and cha-
racteristic: a strong argument, it must be admitted. This argument
is corroborated by another similar in its force. Numerous phrases,
sentiments, figures of rhetoric, and sentences mostly remarkable in
themselves, coincide either wholly, or too nearly, to be referred to the
ordinary causes of such coincidences: another argument which, accord-
ing to the degree in which it can be affirmed, may approach to cer-
tainty. An additional argument, of less weight, but which derives great
value from the concurrence of other proofs, is the similarity between
the character to be attributed to Junius, and the ascertained character
of Sir Philip. Again, the correspondence in the time, and other cir-
cumstances of the composition of the letters, with the personal history
of Sir Philip: his absences and presences; his special knowledge of
facts; his discontents, enmities, and friendships. And lastly, we may
add the consideration due to the whole of such arguments, as complet-
ing a stated sura of probability, of which each part derives some force
from all the rest. This is but a brief summary of the argument, which,
we must confess, leaves no doubt on our mind. To bring its parts
together, we have omitted a few striking details, which we shall here
state. It may be sufficient simply to advert to the known veneration
of Sir P. for lord Chatham. Now, it is remarkable that the only person
whom Junius drops his wonted acerbity, to compliment in the lan-
guage of enthusiasm, is lord Chatham (Letter 54, col. 1806).
It has been noticed by more than one historian, that the letters of
Junius show a minute knowledge of the events which had occurred in
the war-office, and in the secertary of state's office, and of the chief
persons connected with them. During the interval between 1763
and 1 772, Sir Philip was employed in the war-office, which he was
forced to leave on account of some annoyance from lord Barrington.
In the same interval, the letters were published; and it has been re-
marked, that the clerk who was put in his place was honoured with the
bitter scorn of Junius. " It is curious, indeed, to remark with what
sort of feelings a person like Junius, who considered the highest
91 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
characters in the kingdom as not game too high 'for him, regarded an
ordinary clerk who had been put into his place. We find him, ac-
cordingly, descending to the lowest and most scurrilous invectives
.whenever he touches on that subject, and evidently uttering the lan-
guage of a man whose mind is agitated between contempt and indig-
nation. He calls Chamier, Tony Shamuey — little Shamney — a
tight active little fellow — a little gambling broker — little waddle-well
— my duckling — little three per cents, reduced — a mere scrip of a
secretary — an omnium of all that's genteel. Brads.haw, who was con-
nected with Chamier, he also mentions as Tommy Bradshaw — the
cream-coloured Mercury, whose sister, Miss Polly, like the moon,
lives upon the light of her brother's countenance, and robs him of no
small part of his lustre." * It is scarcely too much to say that Mi-
Francis alone could have been the writer of these phrases, utterly be-
neath the pride of the writer of the haughty letters to Sir William
Draper; but quite consistent with the self-abandonment of pride, when
it is deeply and painfully touched. We pass the touch of Irish oratory
in the moon that robs the sun of <; no small part of his lustre," for it
is not characteristic of either. Perhaps the appointment of Francis,
soon after, to a place worth £10,000 a-year may be referred in some
measure to the distinct, though secret understanding, of the formidable
character he had assumed.
To this may be added, that Sir Philip is allowed to have been the
most prompt pamphleteer and letter-writer of his time. It was his
known habit to address the public journals on all occasions of the
slightest public interest. Another circumstance may be mentioned :
the hand-writing of Sir Philip has been found to be similar to that of
the original copies of Juuius, which Woodfall had preserved.
The foregoing are but instances to exhibit the general nature of
this argument, and of the grounds on wrhich it relies. The strongest
fact of all is the least susceptible of being- stated in a general form:
it consists in the close similarity of the entire constitution and history
of the characters of Junius and Sir Philip, so far as each can be
traced. Slighter evidence would be sufficient for a jury upon a capi-
tal felony. It has now also a weight which it had not when the
question was formerly discussed. There is at least one remarkable
precedent — as it is upon the force of similar evidence, not more
strong or complete, that an English barrister identified Sir Walter
Scott with the author of Waverly. The material was, it is true, more
abundant for the comparison of styles ; but in many respects the argu-
ment was far less complete. With such strength of positive proof,
this curious question seems to be reduced to the consideration of what-
ever objections can be offered.
Now, as to objections, we know but of one which merits any notice :
it is very strong in appearance, but cannot bear examination. We
mean, the denial of Sir Philip himself.
That the writer of Junius' Letters, whoever he was, did deny the
authorship, may be taken for granted. That most public men of that
day would little hesitate to deny an authorship designed to be con-
* Editor's Preface to Junius.
PERIOD.] SIR PHILIP FRANCIS.
cealed, no one will doubt. That there were the most urgent rea-
sons for such a denial, is as little matter of question. That the
author of Junius' Letters was a person of as high political stamp and
intercourse as Sir Philip, and ns little likely to shield his own reputa-
tion, peace, and safety, by a species of falsehood often hazarded by
men who would not be guilty of any other, will also be admitted, after
u moment's reflection. Junius did not consider himself safe: he had
assailed the highest and most influential public men; he had been in
consequenee denounced and proscribed among the circles in which he
lived. He had probably now and then to listen to denunciations from
his own personal friends: he was branded by I)r Johnson's pen as
sharp, and far more powerful than his own. If he was a young man,
as the history of Junius himself renders not improbable, (so far as we
require,) he probably, as he advanced in life, found added reason for
secrecy. Though the letters were admired as models of a certain
style, and though many a conceited literateur would compromise all
shames and fears to wear the plume of Junius, yet such are not the
feelings which actuate public men of great and admitted abilities.
To be the author of the letters would have been a small thing to
Sir Philip. They had not then been enshrined in mystery, and
exalted by discussions. Sir Philip was not ambitious of admiration
on the mere ground of style, or to be the reply to a conundrum ; but
he justly shrunk from odium and enmity. It was from a sense of this
nature, that towards the decline of life he gave up the India questions,
strongly expressing the sufferings of his life, from the constant vexa-
tions of party animosity. " By so long endeavouring to maintain
right against wrong, I have sacrificed my repose, and forfeited all
hopes of reward and personal advantage As to future personal
proceedings against any man, I am resolved to take no part in them.
. •. . . . My spirits are exhausted, and my mind subdued, by a long,
unthankful, and most invidious application to one pursuit, in which I
have never been able to do any good." This was after more than
thirty years of public life — the sentiment of an anxious, restless, and
irritable mind, which, to use his own expression, was as a sword that
wore out its scabbard. Such a person was little likely to covet the
supposed honours of Junius.
Pmt the denial itself is more than a mere denial: it surely states a
motive, and that in language which few but Junius would venture to
breathe. He did not deny it as an indifferent matter, on which he
thought it incumbent to speak the truth; he anxiously deprecated 'the
assertion of " a silly malignant falsehood." Why was it malig'nant to
J»lace upon his aged brow the coveted wreath of Junius? It was ma-
ignant, because it was a- distinction •which he feared and shrunk
from; because in his view, and in the circle of his associations, it
would crown the old age of a not unhonoured life, with contempt and
execration. In his apprehension, it was malignant; and his denial
goes for nothing. There is no reason why he should not have denied
it, more than why Junius should have denied it.
We have but one remark to add. We do not mean to attach to the
authorship of those celebrated letters any portion of the species of
censure implied in the language here used; we simply would express
t)6 POLITICAL SERIES. (FlFTH
what may well have occurred to Sir Philip. He lived among the
persons whose enmity, dislike, and condemnation had been drawn forth
by Junius. He had listened to language, and witnessed a sentiment
which has not outlived its time. Junius was not a worse libeller than
many worthy gentlemen now living, with whose names we should not
think fit to associate the term. The letters were reprehensible in the
degree that all political personalities are, and not a thousandth part so
much to be condemned as the anonymous abuse of modern journalism,
which no one blames, and no wise man cares for. We can easily con-
ceive young men drawn into such writings, with far less motives than
Sir Philip; and afterwards, when raised in rank, and improved in feel-
ing and experience, looking back upon them with feelings of regret
and shame.
BORN 1751.— DIED 1816.
THE history of tho Sheridans would be a history of the social state
of their times. The manners, amusements, literature, and the transi-
tions to which these incidents are subject, in the progress of time.
Of the grandfather of the eminent person we are now to notice, some
account has been already given. His father was also a man of con-
siderable attainments, and eminent in his profession as an actor.
This gentleman married a Miss Frances Chamberlain, the grand-
daughter of Sir Oliver Chamberlain. She was the writer of the well-
known tale of Nourjahad, and other popular works.
Of this marriage, Richard Brinsley Sheridan was born in Dublin
in 1751. In his seventh year, he was sent to Whyte's school in
Grafton street. Here he was only permitted to remain for one year ; at
the end of which he was, with his brother Charles, removed to Har-
row. At that eminent school, Dr Robert Sumner was then master,
and Parr an under-master. It is said that these able scholars quickly
discovered the early indications of talent in Sheridan, and exerted
themselves to improve it. They found in him an aptness to learn, in
a great degree neutralized by the idleness of an over-vivacious temper.
He was a universal favourite among his school-fellows. He was mis-
chievous and full of pranks ; but this disposition was qualified with
so much wit and good humour, that he contrived to conciliate his
masters into something very like connivance. He was praised and
caressed ; and it is quite evident, from the accounts of Dr Parr, that
his ambition was gratified without any effort, by the praise of acknow-
ledged talent. A great misfortune, as it was the means of diverting
him from that application which would have given their proper aim
to his eminent abilities, and enabled him to bear a masterly part
in those great questions in which, notwithstanding his gifts of the
first order, he can only be said to have floated on the surface. Thus,
also, a strong and craving vanity was early nursed, and became too pro-
minently the spring and guide of his conduct; often leading him into
degrading associations, and always giving a tinge to his character,
Pt'lUOD.] RICIIAKD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 97
which in some way lowers his most honourable actions. Anxious for
admiration, and no less sedulous to maintain the reputation of a gifted
idler, he gradually fell into the habit of secret study; and, by unob-
served efforts, he made himself master of the principal authors read in
schools. This feature of his character is important to fix on the
reader's mind, as one of the leading- clues to much that is peculiar in
his after-life. " To seem in all things superior to effort — to preserve
the dignity of seeming1 indifference — to conceal failure, and magnify
success,"* are indeed common dispositions; and with these the heart
that has been taught to live on the smiles of the world, will become
at last identified.
Of his first attempts in literature, it will not be necessary to say
much in a short memoir. They were pursued in partnership with a
highly gifted and amiable youth, a Mr Halhed, his schoolfellow at
Harrow, who was afterwards early successful, and would have risen
to eminence; but having been sent out to India, he came home
derarig-ed.
Sheridan continued at Harrow until he had attained his eighteenth
year; when he was removed to his father's house in London. His
father contributed his own share to his education, and perfected him
in the essentials of grammar and oratory. The removal of his
family to Bath seems to have placed his genius in its more appropri-
ate soil. His fine perceptions, and his disposition to satire, found
ample food, in a place where the infirmities of human character nourish
Avith their fullest luxuriance, and where the genius of sarcasm and
scandal has made its most favoured abode. Here he studied human
life with the eye of a wit, and drew that knowledge of manners, and
that keen sense of human weaknesses and vices, which constitutes his
genuine claim to the immortality of literature.
Their removal to Bath took place in 1770. His father's connection
with the stage brought the family into an immediate intimacy with that
of Mr Linley, the celebrated musical composer. With his daughter,
herself eminent as a vocalist of the first order, young Sheridan fell in
love. Miss Linley was no less celebrated for her talents than for her
beauty; and he had numerous rivals. She was the rage of the hour: the
young men of the city were fired with admiration ; and among Sheridan's
rivals were many of his own friends. He courted his mistress, as he
studied, in jealous secrecy; and while many preferred their suits, and
were rejected, he alone passed without suspicion. No romance is
more deeply diversified with crosses and constancy, and the whole
train of those vicissitudes of sentiment which though only celebrated in
fiction, are no less known in reality, than the history of Mr Sheridan's
courtship. We must here be content to select some incidents, too
prominent to be wholly passed without note. Miss Linley had been
proposed for by a Mr Long, a gentleman considered to have £200,000.
He was accepted by her father; but was privately applied to by herself,
with an entreaty that he would withdraw his suit. With a rare
generosity, Mr Long not only complied, but took upon himself the
danger of breaking off the match. Mr Linley took legal proceedings,
and was indemnified with £3000.
* Dublin University Magazine, April, 1837.
VOL. VI. G
98 POLITICAL SERIES. [FilTH
Among the numerous incidents belonging to this portion of our
memoir, there was one attended by very serious consequences. Among
the admirers of Miss Linley was a Mr Matthews, a married man, who
was intimate with her family; and who, presuming on her profession,
began to persecute her with attentions which could only be received
as insults. Repelled in these odious advances, he had recourse to
menace; and she felt herself compelled to disclose the circumstances to
her lover. His feelings need not be explained. He immediately
proceeded to expostulate with Matthews; but his remonstrances had
no effect. Terrified by such ruffianly and degrading importunities, and
disgusted with a profession which exposed her to them, Miss Linley
came to the resolution of flight. Sheridan, who it may be assumed
was her adviser, borrowed the needful means from his sister, and
accompanied her. Her plan was to take refuge in a French convent.
Of the achievement of this exploit, we only state the main outline.
The time was taken, when the family were engaged at a concert ; and,
with a proper female companion, the fugitives made their way to
London. There it naturally occured that the only remedy for the
dangers attendant upon such a step was an immediate marriage ; and
they were married accordingly.
The romance was not to terminate with the wedding. The morti-
fied pride of Matthews could not acquiesce in being so frustrated by a
rival whom he perhaps had too readily despised. He satisfied his
vengeance by calumnies and misrepresentations, some of which appeared
through the medium of the Bath Chronicle. These found their way
to Mr Sheridan, who wrote to threaten vengeance; and who shortly
returned, with that purpose, to London. He found his way at a late
hour of the night to the lodging of Mr Matthews, and was for a long-
time detained at the door, on pretence that the key could not be found.
When this artifice failed, he was at length admitted. Matthews met
his remonstrances with an altered tone, and endeavoured to appease
him. With this view, he had recourse to lies: he told him that the
reports of which he complained, were circulated by his own brother,
Mr Charles Sheridan, in Bath. Sheridan at once went off to Bath,
saw his brother, and ascertained the falsehood of the assertion. Both
brothers returned to London, and Sheridan immediately challenged
Matthews. Matthews showed no very keen appetite for cold steel, and
many delays and changes of place took place on this meeting. At
last they engaged with swords, in the Castle tavern, Henrietta street.
They were not long confronted, when Sheridan contrived to strike his
antagonist's sword aside, and, running in, caught his sword-arm by the
wrist. Matthews asked his life, and, after some efforts at evasion,
was compelled to retract his calumnious statements, in a writing which
was inserted in the Bath Chronicle.
Mr Matthews withdrew from the painful notoriety which attended
this defeat, and attempted to shroud his wounded reputation in the
retirement of his Welsh estate. He was, however, assailed by the con-
dolences of some " damned good-natured friend," who soon convinced
him that he might as well meet the sword of his enemy as the
tongues of his neighbours. How long, or by what process of persua-
sion and mortified rumination, the courage of Matthews was roused
PERIOD.] RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 99
from its torpor, we are not enabled to state. His valour was screwed,
we presume, " to the sticking- point ;" and he set off with his friend,
once more to seek and brave the trial of cold iron. The parties once
more met, but with a different result. Unfortunately, Mr Sheridan
thought to conclude the affair as on the former occasion, by a coup
de main, and rushed upon his antagonist, laying himself quite open.
He was received on his point, and severely wounded. The sword,
coming against one of Mr Sheridan's ribs, was broken; and the
parties closed and fell, Matthews being uppermost. On the ground,
a most brutal strife followed, on which the seconds appeared to
have looked with blameable remissness. Matthews, after several
attempts to wound his antagonist with his broken sword, recovered the
point, with which he wounded him in the belly. He received a similar
wound from Mr Sheridan, whose sword was also broken. His second
now called out, " My dear Sheridan, beg your life!" This advice was
also repeated by the other second; for this seems to have been the
etiquette of such encounters. " No, by G — , I won't!" was the reply.
They now resolved to interfere; and the parties were, with their
own consent, disarmed, and withdrawn from the scene.
The result was, that a strong suspicion of the fact of their marriage
was raised ; and Sheridan's father, still in the hope to guard against such
an event, sent him for a time upon a visit to some friends in Essex.
The youthful pair still continued to guard their secret, as, both parties
being under age, they feared the marriage might be dissolved.
Sheridan remained in this afflicting separation, of which the suffering
was greatly augmented by the natural jealousy of his temper; and his
painful apprehensions were increased by a consideration of the pecu-
liarly exposed condition of his wife.
After much distressful and harrassing endurance, and some stolen
interviews, Mr Linley became convinced of the inutility of any effort
to separate them, and at last consented to their marriage. A second
and more formal celebration accordingly took place, in the spring of
1773.
The first step taken by Mr Sheridan was, to refuse his consent to
the engagement which had been made for his wife as a public singer.
They retired to a cottage at East Burnham, from which they removed
in winter to London.
It will not be necessary further to pursue this part of his life in any
detail. His wit and reputation for talent was set off by his adven-
tures, and by the accomplishments and pleasing manners of his wife ;
and they were received in the best society.
Sheridan now commenced his brilliant career as a dramatist. In
the summer of 1774, he had finished his well-known comedy of " The
Rivals," in which he seems to have taken some hints from his recent
adventures with Matthews. The first reception of this comedy was
not answerable to the character it afterwards attained, and still bears.
It came forth with the errors of inexperience about it, and, among other
defects, had that least of all likely to pass the trial of an audience : it
took four hours in the acting — a test which few, if any, plays ever
written would be likely to escape without some show of impatience.
It was coldly received; but the prompt sagacity of the author took the
100 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
hint, and, before the next representation, it was trimmed into more
current form and dimension. It was then received with the favour
due to its characteristic power, and took its place as a stockpiece
among1 the most popular plays in the language — a success which
may be said to stamp its claim, whatever may be conceded to the
criticism which has discerned its faults as a representation of charac-
ter. It effects the object of the author — to amuse and instruct by
ridicule. The faults and weaknesses of his persons might, it is true,
be delineated with a more fine and feeling hand, and more conform-
ably to nature and reality. They might also be worked into consider-
able dramatic effect by the coarser and more common method of the
plot, in which actions are followed up to their consequences. But it
is equally legitimate, and more appropriate to the species of follies
which are the subject of " The Rivals," to treat them with the appropri-
ate edge of ridicule. This is done in the manner most suited to a
mixed audience, by the humourous exaggeration of caricature — a
species of satire agreeable to the custom and taste of all times, and
founded on the principle that much of the absurdity of human con-
duct can be represented in no other way. The real operation of the
folly of Lydia Languish would probably consist in a course of secret
impulses, and nearly evanescent acts, which, separately taken, would be
in no way ridiculous. To expose them, they are to be converged in the
concave mirror of satire. Nor is there in this anything really un-
natural: it is effective as a sort of practical exemplification, in which
absurdities are carried to their legitimate consequences, and displayed
apart from the tissues of reality. In life, the duellist is also a man, and
has the common interests and pursuits of other men; in the satire, he
is a duellist, and no more. The drama does not represent life in the
abstract, or even the whole life and character of its heroes: it selects
an incident of their lives, in which some ruling virtue or vice, weakness
or absurdity, is brought out, and becomes the spirit of the hour. Such
a consideration strongly enforces the justness of the mode of delineation
which has been in some measure blamed in " The Rivals." The satire
is not the representation of the man, but of the folly. It is an infirmity
realized for the moment, by dressing it in the features of humanity.
Once more let the character of Mrs Malaprop be considered : the slip-
slops which distil so amusingly from her tongue are in no one instance
more extravagant than the lamentable reality: no absurdity is too gross
for the flippant and conceited tongue of an ignorant and shallow
woman, with a pedantic temper and a half education; as was very
common in the last century. Such blunders were but occasional; and
how was this disgusting absurdity to be touched by any delinea-
tion pretending to the character of reality? Surely if Mrs Malaprop
had only fallen into one dull flippancy in the whole representation, the
point must wholly have escaped; or, if observed, it would have been
considered as the mistake of the author. But Mrs Malaprop was
simply the impersonation of feminine slipslop, and her blunders touched
into perfection by the wit of the satirist. It is not the less exact as
a specimen, because it is qualified by a ludicrous felicity. Of the
cowardice of Bob Acres, we should observe that it is a most keen
dissection of the workings of a passion in itself most singularly
PERIOD.] RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 101
characterized by the opposite extremes of the ludicrous and awful.
Such are its different aspects to the looker-on and the subject of it.
There is no passion so resisted and subdued by the pride of manhood :
it only obtains power where there is unusual folly and imbecility; and
its real tendencies and suggestions, when betrayed, are so disgusting-,
that it requires to be set off by the playful absurdity of the satirist,
to bear the light of popular representation.
Sheridan's school was the world. His observation was keen ; but it
was the observation of a wit, and not of a philosopher. Of the facts
to be collected from society, from self-experience, and from the occa-
sional reaches of mind in thought or composition, he was master.
His mind worked within a narrow compass ; and this may be said
upon his own authority. " There are," he said, " on every subject, but
a few leading and fixed ideas ; their tracks may be traced by your
own genius, as well as by reading." This dictum, expounded by the
actual productions of Sheridan, of every kind, indicates at once the
real machinery, and the limit of his intellectual power. He had not
in view the comprehensive application of principles, for this was not in
his writings or habits. His fixed ideas were but practical resting-
places for the memory and fancy — a popular system, beginning in
certain common elements of practice, rules, maxims, and established
facts. But we must not suffer our pen to be led away by distinctions
which, however just, demand more space than we have at our disposal.
At this period, Mr Sheridan was anxious to make his way into
political life. He commenced by the writing a reply to Dr Johnson's
pamphlet, " Taxation no Tyranny." His indolence, in an effort for which
he had naturally no vocation, was perhaps the cause of his not having
completed it. The fragments published by his biographer do riot
display much of the talent suited to the antagonist whom he had
selected, or the nature of the subject.
Sheridan became, not long after, a member of the celebrated Literary
Club : he was proposed by Johnson, with the observation that " he who
had written the two best comedies of his age, is surely a considerable
man." This occured in 1777.
Although he did not permit Mrs Sheridan to appear on the public
stage, yet his circumstances were not such as altogether to dispense
with the profitable employment of her singular talents. And this was
rendered the more necessary by the extravagant habits of life into
which he was led by his social tastes and accomplishments. Private
concerts were had recourse to, and in some measure assisted to supply
the waste of their profuse living. Their house became for a time one
of the gay centres of festivity; and if income was obtained from various
sources, it went out something faster than it came in. But it was the
season of youth, and hope, and power, and high friends, and splendid
attractions.
It is indeed a curious, but melancholy consideration, that now, even
in the heyday of his life, when the path to fortune and the attractions
of the world, in their brightest form and hue, seemed opening before
him, and all was enjoyment of the present, and gay hope for the
future, the causes of ruin were already sprung up around him, and,
though slowly, yet surely, preparing a future day of gloom and deser-
102 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
tion. There is a strong and feeling contrast between the pecuniary
embarrassment which was entangling him, and the festal abandonment
of his home, and the brilliant increase of his fame. Those hours which
were not engrossed fry the serious game of politics, were devoted to
mirth and frolic. Besides the social and convivial wit for which he is
remembered, he was equally addicted to, and successful in, practical
jokes; and of this many curious stories have been preserved by Mr
Moore and other biographers. By Mr Moore we are told, that "he
delighted in all sorts of dramatic tricks and disguises; and the lively
parties with which his country-house was always filled, were kept in
momentary expectation of some new device for their mystification
or amusement."
"The Duenna" appeared on the 21st November, 1775, at Covent-
garden: it ran for 95 nights. The merits of this celebrated opera are
so generally known, that we may hold ourselves absolved from any
criticism. The comments of which it has been the subject would, if
mentioned, require several paragraphs of analysis, which our readers
will excuse, and for which we have not room.
In the same year, he entered into a treaty with Garrick for Drury-
lane theatre. Garrick was about to retire into private life, having
realized an ample fortune. They had become acquainted at the table
of Reynolds, and were, as they should have been, soon warm friends.
Garrick seems to have thought that Sheridan's dramatic genius would
give new life and success to that theatre, which he had for some years
found it not easy to manage. Ten thousand pounds was to be paid by
Sheridan. The sum was advanced by two of his friends, who were se-
cured by mortgages upon his share in the concern. Mr Linley joined
to the same amount, and Dr Fordyce to the amount of £15,000. The
rest of the estate continued with Mr Garrick's partner.
Sheridan was, as he said, resolved upon success ; and he argued that
of this laudable resolution, success must be a consequence. Such a
consequence must depend on means and causes, which are too often for-
gotten in the computation. Yet Sheridan had strong grounds for con-
fidence: he possessed within himself a rich mine of wit and dramatic
invention; and had not indolence, the thirst for dissipation, and the ill-
regulated ambition which drew him into the field of politics, inter-
fered to relax and counteract the bent of his mind, and divert his
talents from their proper aim, we should be inclined to look with
similar confidence to the result of his exertions. In addition to these
disqualifying tendencies, he was utterly without that commercial pru-
dence, attention, and calculation, without which the most prosperous
circumstances will be neutralized. He had not a due sense of economy,
or any apprehension of the real effects of debt. He spent profusely
what he had, and what he had not, and seldom looked beyond the suc-
cess or the triumph of the hour.
His .first effort disappointed his friends. The alteration of Van-
burgh's comedy of " The Relapse" was a failure : the " School for
Scandal," however, appeared in May 1777, and made amends. For
years, this distinguished piece eclipsed all other dramatic productions.
It still holds its place at the head of the comic drama. Many things
have been written or said, tending to diminish this praise. The pains
PERIOD.] RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 103
it cost the author has been noticed; its moral has been assailed; and
the very authorship questioned. On the latter of these points, we do
not consider it necessary to speak; it is simply foolish. On the others
we may make a few remarks, as it is on his dramatic achievements
alone that the true fame of Sheridan must rest.
To say that any degree of slow and careful elaboration, by which
the most consummate excellence of art can be produced, can diminish
the praise of success, would display an ignorance of the powers, and
a misconception of the character and resources of genius : it involves
a confusion between the ideas of excellence and rapidity, which latter
is more frequently an indication and a result of mediocrity. This
ought to be understood. As the faculties augment in power, the first
consequence must be a proportional enlargement and perfection of the
standard conceptions of excellence, and consequently a still greater in-
crease in the difficulties of execution, which must fall short of the
poet's or artist's taste, in proportion as it approaches the perfect stand-
ard. Here then is evidently shown an inverse ratio between power
and rapidity, so far as such inferences are to be allowed. As the
standard rises, the labour of art becomes more and more infinite:
mediocrity alone, aiming at little, soon arrives at its imagined per-
fection. If it may, with some speciousness, be replied, that in the
actual instance under consideration, the application of this principle
is not very precise — as promptness is essential to the merit of wit, — it
would not be difficult to show the misconception contained in such an
objection: it simply shifts the question from art to conversational
power. The power is the same, but differently used: the same talent
which can exhilarate and arouse the social circle by the rapid and rich
play of point and allusion, contrast and comparison, is capable of the
most unbounded elaboration, and is subject to all the gradations of
improvement. The same principle applies to all that can be done by
the power of art. The highest aim prescribes the deepest elaboration,
and no elaboration can create the power. " A thousand years of
labour could not have enabled Hayley to write ' Comus,' or Cum-
berland the 'School for Scandal.'"* The materials for this comedy
seem to have been accumulating from an early period of his life, and
to a considerable extent are to be traced to the associations of his
sojourn in Bath. The steps of its progress have been traced by Mr
Moore in details too long for this work, but curiously, and on a scale
of unusual breadth, disclosing the secrets of the midnight lamp.
Much has been said of the defects in the conduct of the story or
plot of this, as of Sheridan's other plays. The real interest of the
" School for Scandal" is not properly to be sought in the plot, or in the
progress of its incidents, but in the truth and happy boldness of the
satire. We do not therefore concur in the criticism which has
analyzed a part of the design which had no existence. The truest
and severest picture of the manners and morals of a time needs no
aid from the common charm of the circulating library. But it
challenges criticism on a different score — the moral perversion dis-
played in the brothers Charles and Joseph Surface, — in whose charac-
* Dublin University Magazine.
104 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
ters libertinism is adorned, and virtue degraded, so as to convey a
corrupt and thoroughly false impression to the spectator. This can-
not indeed be denied by the most practical critic, who is not ready to
betray the most sacred duty of his office : and we must not only ad-
mit the severe strictures which have been often repeated on the
flagitious misrepresentation which is the signal stain upon this great
masterpiece ; but strongly, as is our duty, impugn the defence which
has been set up for Sheridan, by his admirers. It has been de-
fended by the assertion that there was worse before it, and that
a service was done to morals, by the exposure of the hypocritical Jo-
seph Surface, while the irregularities of his brother are set off by the
bright example of his natural virtues. Were open profligates com-
monly persons of exalted worth, and were persons apparently of strict
moral conduct commonly secret villains ; if such a transposition of the
realities of human nature actually were to exist, something might be
said in defence of the representation. It would have at least the merit
of truth, though it would unhappily be a better argument for vice than
vice has yet been able to find. But the hypocrite and the libertine are
the creations of the dramatist: referred to reality, they are among the
accidents of a vicious state of society, and not properly the subject of
moral portraiture. In real life they may exist; but they are a mor-
bid specimen, and should not be selected. The truth must be said:
there was a state of society, when it was felt to be an object to sneer
down religion and decorum, and to invest profligacy with the grace
and dignity of virtue. The preposterous transfer was welcome to the
gay and the vicious (the friends of the author), and was the honour and
glory of the piece. It helped the cause of dissipation, and swelled the
triumph of dice, drunkenness, and drabbing, against " grave advice
with scrupulous head." Every one knows that the favourite cant of
open profligacy is, the charge of " hypocrisy" against those who
scandalize it by decency ; and the effect of a contrast like Sheridan's,
in favour of vice, must be, so far as it goes, to bring into disrepute all
the higher moralities, and to shed a gay charm around the libertine.
On the other hand, so far as the representation can be said to apply,
it can have no effect whatever: the Joseph of reality still has his
secret to himself. The profligate will wear the plume woven for him ;
but he is not bound to maintain a stock of concealed goodness, for
some dramatic denouement: he will be content, with Charles, to have
credit for virtues on the score of profligacy and vice.
In 1778, Sheridan had made a further investment in Drury-lane, to
the amount of £45,000. He had been reconciled with his father, and
on this occasion used his newly acquired power to make him manager.
It was hoped that the father's experience might compensate for the
imprudence of his son.
Garrick died January, 1779- Sheridan attended as chief mourner
at his funeral. On this occasion he wrote the longest of his poems.
Of his poetry, we shall not say anything in this cursory sketch: the
consideration would lead us too far. According to our estimate, his
mind possessed no poetry, save the rhetoric; and even in this, we
should have important deductions to make. As a poet, his best suc-
cess is the ballad, in which his point, his sentiment, and his not uu-
PERIOD.] RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 105
lyrical ear, combined in his behalf. This is sufficiently apparent in
the songs of "The Duenna."
In the same year " The Critic" appeared, and to some extent main-
tained the reputation of Sheridan. But the difficulties in which the
theatre began to be entangled were beyond the powers of prose or
verse. His father was little competent, in his old age, to deal with
perplexities which, in a far milder form, had been too much for the
vigour of his youth. He resigned; and the plot began to thicken on
the "Road to Ruin."
But the gloomy chasm that was 'to swallow up the brightness of
Sheridan's career was for many years to be concealed by other suc-
cesses. His brilliant powers, all pre-eminently of the social order, had
brought him prominently into the highest circles, and made for him
friends of the leading whigs of the time. It had long been the favour-
ite object of his ambition, to try his fortune, and display his powers on
the stage of politics. The friendship of Fox decided him.
To pass superfluous detail, he obtained his desire. He was brought
into parliament as member for Stafford. A petition complaining of
undue election gave him a favourable occasion for the display of his
eloquence; but his debut, owing to nervous excitement, was unsatis-
factory. Such an impediment could not long retard powers of such
an order; and though he prudently avoided committing himself for a
time on great questions, he gradually convinced the house of his
value.
We do not consider the politics of Sheridan such as to demand an
excuse for venturing into the history of his time, or of the questions
which occupied the orators and statesmen who then lived. We must
therefore endeavour to adhere to a strict course of personal history.
From the outset of his political life, he is to be seen as the friend
and follower of Mr Fox. While he mainly adopted the principles of
that great man, and seconded the party movements of which he was
the conductor, his own tact, address, and keen common-sense, enabled
him to keep clear of many of the disadvantages of a violent popular
faction; and he knew how to avail himself of the connections thus
obtained, to raise his own position, and wind his way to favour. He
thus found access to the prince of Wales, and soon attained, by his wit
and address, the confidence and companionship of his pleasures and
amusements.
The reader is most probably acquainted with the general state of
parties at the time: we have sufficiently described it in Burke's memoir.
'J[he country was menaced by a violent influx of revolutionary prin-
ciples, represented in the person and party of Mr Fox. With this party
the prince was for a time connected. They fought his battles, and
swelled his state. His extravagance had led him into difficulties — his
associations had involved him in the just displeasure of the king, who
hoped to break such alliances, and induce his heir to marry, by making
it a condition of the payment of his debts. Such a compromise was re-
jected by the prince; and several years of painful disunion afflicted his
father, and promoted the objects of his political friends, by making
their talents useful. He was thrown into the arms of as debauched
106 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
and unprincipled a set of projectors, parasites, and profligates, as
degraded a court.
For Sheridan, as for Mr Fox, it is to be said, that they were actu-
ated rather by their own tastes and propensities, than by any low
motive by which men are likely to court favour in courts. However
the friendship of the prince might appear to promise future political
advantages, their own tempers, passions, and pursuits, were all in the
same track ; and the prince was not one to whom any companion could
fail to become attached.
Through the entire of the protracted negotiations which were con-
sequent upon the prince's difficulties, Sheridan was the nearest in his
confidence — the partaker of his counsels and of his amusements. In
this latter capacity, his spirit of mischievous frolic had ample range ;
and many stories are told of his exploits of practical humour. If the
outbreaks of their gaiety are less equivocal than the nocturnal sallies
of prince Hal, and the revelry of the Boar's Head, they arc not far
short in mischief, and far superior in wit. In that grave play of spe-
cious knavery, which mystifies the victim of a jest, Sheridan was
unrivalled. Of this, the instances which have been repeated by
numerous biographers and collectors of anecdote are numerous, and
among the best of their kind.
The climax of his renown as an orator rose from the impeach-
ment of Mr Hastings. It is needless to estimate the precise
value of the p'raise his celebrated speech obtained: it answered the
highest uses of praise to its object. We shall offer some remarks at
the close of this memoir, on this and some other points of the same
nature.
His father died in 1 788 ; and the attendant circumstances, in them-
selves unimportant, brought into evidence the natural strength of his
filial affections.
In 1791, he received a severer blow, in the death of his wife. Her
health had been shaken by the heavy labours which she undertook, to
regulate and keep order in -the tangled engagements and perplexed
affairs of her husband; in which she manifested the most admirable
patience, industry, and talent. A cold, operating on a naturally
delicate habit, seems to have brought on her last illness. She received
the most tender and assiduous attention from her husband, who sat up
night after night by her death-bed.
In 1795, he was again married to Miss Ogle, daughter to the dean
of Winchester. His party at this time was crumbling away: the
views they had espoused had begun to be exposed by facts; and a deep
reaction, set in motion by the eloquence of Mr Burke, was confirmed
by events. Sober men began to shake off the revolutionary delusions of
the day, and to perceive the importanceTof rallying in defence of insti-
tutions. Sheridan was not slow to follow the dictates of reason, and
became for a time the object of reproaches to the leaders whose
intrigues for place were defeated by his address.
In 1798, he brought out "The Stranger" and "Pizarro" well-
known adaptations from the German Kotzebue.
In 1804, he obtained the receivership of the duchy of Cornwall,
PERIOD.] RICHARD BIUNSLEY SHERIDAN. 107
from the prince of Wales, "as a trifling proof of that friendship his
royal highness had felt for him for a long series of years."
In the autumn of 1807, he entered into a treaty with Mr Jones of
Dublin, long well-known to the Irish public as the spirited proprietor
of Crow-street theatre. It seems to have been a part of the agreement,
that Mr Sheridan should write a play within the given time of three
years. This agreement was arranged in the form of a bet for 500
guineas, which was agreed on by the parties in presence of Mr Richard
Power and Mr Becher, who joined in the bet.
As we have already intimated, Drury-lane theatre, had from the
beginning, been a source of embarrassment and extreme annoyance to
its proprietors. The petty squabbles of the company of actors and
actresses, the accumulation of debts, the doubtful and controverted
rights, and tho occasional lawsuits to which they gave rise, became
too much even for the natural insousiance of Sheridan. This state of
things was aggravated by an accident. He was attending a debate,
when word came that the theatre was on fire. He left the house, and
proceeded to the scene, when he witnessed with surprising calmness
the destruction of his whole property.
In 1 81 1, the arrangements for rebuilding the theatre were complete.
And among these the interests of Sheridan were attended to. He was
to receive £20,000, out of which different claims were to be satisfied.
It was also a stipulation, that he should have no concern or connection
of any kind with the new undertaking. Such a condition strongly indi-
cates the impression which existed as to his utter unfitness for any con-
cern in the conduct of business. In truth, with every kindly, amiable,
and generous impulse, he was incapable of bringing home to his mind
the urgent sense of duty, of right, or of obligation, or any of the prin-
ciples which are essential to the whole commerce of life. Such con-
siderations were, in a mind of which buoyant levity was the character-
istic quality, only known as elements of rhetoric, and the flourishes of
sentimental poetry. Mr Moore's observations on the transaction here
related, are too important in this point of view to be omitted. Having
mentioned that the adjustment of the affairs of the theatre were under-
taken by Mr Whitbread, he proceeds: "It would be difficult indeed to
find two persons less likely to agree in a transaction of this nature, —
the one, in affairs of business, approaching almost as near to the
extreme of rigour, as the other to that of laxity. While Sheridan,
too, like those painters who endeavour to disguise their ignorance of
anatomy by an indistinct and fuzzy outline, had an imposing method
of generalising his accompts and statements, which to most eyes (arid
most of all to his own,) concealed the negligence and fallacy of the
details; Mr Whitbread, on the contrary, with unrelenting accuracy, laid
open the minutise of every transaction, and made evasion as impossible
to others, as it was alien and inconceivable to himself."* The light,
inconsiderate, and volatile frame of Sheridan's temper was as a butter-
fly impaled upon the needle of the artist — writhing and fluttering to
escape to his zephyrs and his flowers. Mr Whitbread did not com-
prehend the levity and the ingenuity that would load to-morrow with
* The italics are not Mr Moore's in the above extract : they are intended to
mark the passages bearing mainly upon our own statement.
108 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
calamity and ruin, to make to-day run smoothly; and this was the life
and soul of Sheridan. On Sheridan's part, the collisions which arose
in their proceedings were embittered by distress and wounded pride.
Among these annoyances, one alone requires our immediate notice now.
He applied for an advance of £2000, for the purpose of securing his
election for the borough of Stafford. But as this advance would have
been premature, and anticipate the state of his accompts, it was refused.
The refusal was perhaps harsh, but it was strictly right, and was
peculiarly the result of all Sheridan's conduct. It is one of the cases
in which opinion is seldom just, and in which justice is sometimes
difficult. Jn looking back on the history of men like Sheridan — so
light, brilliant, and unfortunate, — we cannot help seeing through the
light of those consecrating recollections which follow departed genius.
There was nothing in poor Sheridan's character .to command either
the respect or sympathy of men of strict principle and sober conduct.
But it was nevertheless a blow that gave the last sad impulse to his
declining career. The dark spirit of ruin, to which he had sold his
life, had followed his progress through court, and senate, and stage,
with invisible steps, but steady malignity of eye: it now began to
tread closer on the heels of the victim, and to claim the fatal price.
The known prospect of £20,000 was a dangerous signal to his credi-
tors. The precise detail of the state of his affairs at this time, we
have not been able to learn; nor is it further important than the
general fact: he was dipped beyond his means in debt, — though it
is mentioned that there was still some balance remaining over and
above the debts, to which he was rendered subject by the arrange-
ments of the committee for the management of Drury-lane.
. We must here, in passing, say (and we only say it that our silence
may not be misinterpreted) that we wholly disagree with, and deeply
disapprove of, the comments of some other writers on the transactions
of this period of Sheridan's life, as uncandid and unjust. It is vain
to palliate his follies and his misconduct at the expense of just and
honest men. There is something gratuitous in the misrepresentation
of circumstances, and the misconstruction of the motives of those
who have been charged with that neglect which was the inevitable
result of his own conduct, of the position in which he had placed
himself, and of the degrading changes which he had undergone: they
can serve no good end. It is not by dealing wrongful imputations
that a great man's memory is to be redeemed from the censure of
history.
These remarks have their object; and, let it be said, are written
with a constrained and temperate hand. We do not consider the
memory of George IV., whatever were the real faults of the man or
of the prince, less important to history than that of Mr Sheridan.
Both are long beyond the reach of satire or partial praise, which
must fall ineffective on the " dull cold ear of death." But we cannot
let pass the pernicious implication, that it is the claim of brilliant
social and literary talents to be protected at the expense of other men
from the consequences of folly and infirmity. Let these considera-
tions be our excuse if we deal unceremoniously, but fairly, with the
latter days of poor Sheridan. And let us further preface this division
PERIOD.] RICHARD BIUNSLEY SHERIDAN. 109
of our task with the remark, that for talent, or even for genius, ex-
clusive of moral worth, we profess no veneration, and consider such a
popular fallacy. Considered in itself, genius is simply power, valuable
according to the use. It is the lofty moral and spiritual qualities
which ought to be the result of a broader and higher range of mind,
and of more large and purer sympathies, which give their grace, love-
liness, and dignity to the poet of nature and to the philosopher of
truth, and which demand the honour of mankind or awaken the enthu-
siasm of the observer. But we cannot be compelled to pay this high
tribute to the man who has in his life displayed great powers, stripped
of all these nobler attributes. We cannot consent to crown and gild
a vicious model, or to add to the spurious wreath of praise twined by
the hand of calumny.
During the closing years of his life, changes had been taking
place in Sheridan, consequent upon his habits, which were such as
to wear out the very bonds of the nearest relations of life, and
which muSt have rendered him less the object of sympathy, and
entirely cancelled the common claims which pass for friendship in the
world. It was felt to be past the reach of all effective kindness to
raise him from a condition, not more ruinous from its actual amount
of evil, than hopeless from the increase of those infirmities which
brought it on. He was in head and heart, mind and body, fallen from
his height, such as it was — that of a wit — an ornament in the polished
circles, a contributor to the amusements of the gay, and whatever
value will be claimed and conceded for his political life. All this
was gone. And, though it may so appear in the rapid transition of a
brief memoir, it was not the change of an hour: he had been long
working a downward way. Any one characterized by the tenth part
of his folly, and without the brilliant energies which upheld him
for an interval of forced elevation, would long before have been
consigned to a charitable oblivion. He was felt to be incorrigible in
the infatuation which " made him poor," and would " keep him so at
last." With the fair allowance for such considerations, it ought to be
neither matter of wonder or blame that his friends had become alien-
ated from one whose ways were become incompatible with respect or
with the habits of polished life — that he came to be tolerated in regard
to past claims. " The ancients, we are told," writes Mr Moore, " by a
significant device, inscribed on the wreath they wore at banquets the
name of Minerva. Unfortunately, from the festal wreath of Sheridan,
this name was now too often effaced." This is gracefully said, and it
becomes Mr Moore to cast a flower where a harsher hand must fix a
sterner mark ; but it is our duty to translate the charitable conceal-
ment of poetic language. Sheridan had sunk into a habitual and con-
firmed drunkard. In some, caution; in some, their place in society;
in some, their great insignificance, might in a measure counteract the
tendency of his worldly acquaintances to spurn such a disgusting
association. Much is endured, because it must be endured. But poor
Sheridan had lived on the admiration of society ; he had been cultivated
by inclinations and the sympathies of men. With all his amiability,
and the prestige of reputation, he was felt to have become disagreeable
and disqualified, as much for the adornment of society as he had
110 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
always been for its affairs. No kindness could sustain him above
the level he had found for himself.
But the"re is another consideration, before reproach against his
great friends can be fairly admitted. It should have been fairly
noticed, that the destitute state of his finances could not have been
known. He was nominally in the possession of several sources of
income. It was only known that he was embarrassed, and that, with
the possession of any assignable estate, he would be embarrassed
still. The prince had been munificent, and a patent office had ap-
parently secured enough for moderate desires. The numerous anec-
dotes told by Mr Moore and others, could we here avail ourselves of
so detailed a method, would amply attest the justice of these remarks.
Sheridan had one kind and' invariable friend, who never deserted
him, or lost sight of his interest. It was the prince-regent (Geo. IV).
But having, between indolence and the habits already described, in
a great measure become estranged from attendance at court, and as
the same changes rendered him less qualified to appear advantageously
in a circle which had during the very same time been changing in the
opposite direction, he was not sought after or his society cultivated
with the same flattering care. He was no longer attractive or the
object of admiration and respect, though he was yet regarded with
kindness and compassion. This was not understood, either by Sheridan
or his friends. A morbid pride, which had Jurked in his mind through
life, resented the alteration, without justly calculating that the cause
was in himself. He became pettish; and his friends, who did not
look beyond him, naturally resented his imaginary wrongs. Tarty,
which lives in misrepresentation and misunderstanding, — and above all,
popular party, which is reckless in assertion, and looks on kings and
nobles as game for " the liberty of the press," — perverted the circum-
stances for the purpose of calumny against the prince-regent. And
thus it was, that when the character and pursuits of poor Sheridan had
become such as made it impossible for any person of rank to be his
associate, or still less for the king to seek him out in haunts beyond
which he had in a great measure ceased to exist — when he had
fallen into such a condition that he could not be trusted a few hours
to his own discretion — when he himself, with some natural conscious-
ness of what he wras become, avoided the society of which he had
once been the ornament — he drew upon himself the neglect which
he courted and resented. When a man loses sight of his own dignity
and interest, it is frivolous to demand that he is to be held up by
others. It is with some remorse that we follow the dictates of justice,
in endeavouring to transfer a little misplaced censure to the proper
scale. We participate in the common prejudice which demands
somewhat of tenderness towards the infirmities of men like Sheridan.
His hapless decline is indeed a theme to awaken the most painful
sympathy. One asks with sorrow and indignation, Was all this talent,
spirit, amiability, success, to terminate thus ? How brilliant the
ascent ! — fame, fortune, public admiration, princely favour ! How sad
the descent! — embarrassment, poverty, degradation, and neglect! The
mortifications aggravated by the most brilliant recollections, and em-
bittered by the pride of a spirit still lofty in its ruin.
PERIOD.] RICHARD BUINSLEY SHERIDAN. Ill
In 1815, a disorder brought on by continued intemperance became
confirmed and incurable. His powers of digestion were gone; but his
native strength of constitution prolonged his struggle with disease.
He nevertheless rapidly lost strength, and in the spring- of 1816 was
entirely confined to his bed. It was in th'is condition that his dying
bed was harrassed by the demands of creditors. His house was beset
by the bailiffs, and he was compelled to seek aid from his friends.
Liberal assistance was offered by the prince-regent : it was refused,
to satisfy the pride of Mrs Sheridan's relations. Perhaps, indeed, they
acted from a more respectable feeling. His distress was not such as
to be admitted without something of shame. And we feel also
bound to say, that some of his biographers, in relating* his pecuniary
transactions, have been so much enchanted by their sense of wit, as
to overlook the real and essential character of very equivocal transac-
tions. We can find excuses in Sheridan's utter levity; but it is easy
also to see to what lowering constructions he must have become
subject in the opinions of the vulgar. We cannot, at all events, find
any fair ground of reproach to any one but the unfortunate person
who, too dearly perhaps, paid the penalty which seldom fails to crown
a life of imprudence.
One more point connected with these considerations demands some
notice, and it must be brief — where the public friends, the great and
noble persons of Sheridan's party, are reproached with deserting him.
It ought not to be forgotten, and the less because it is to his praise,
that he had first departed from them. Though far from a wise or a
prudent man, Sheridan was sincere ; and when the true tendency of
the conduct and principles of that party became palpable to his dis-
cernment, he expressed and acted on his better sense. Such changes
are hardly tolerated when they can be supported by the power and
respectability of the person, and the after-course by which his retreat
is dignified.
But to conclude. Sheridan was arrested in his bed; and after keep-
ing him a few days in terror, the bailiff was only prevented from
removing him by Dr Baine, the physician who attended him. The
bishop of London happening to learn of his dying state, sent an offer
of his attendance, which was gladly accepted. Sheridan joined in the
bishop's prayers with fervour, and appeared to have received much
comfort. He died without a struggle, July, 1816. He \vas interred
in Westminster Abbey.
The personal character of Sheridan is best to be understood from
the numerous anecdotes which are told by several writers of his
wit, his prankish vivacity, his indolence, and most singular carelessness
about times and engagements. We are also, by similar records, made
acquainted with his powers of persuasion — the combined effect of wit,
dexterity, and engaging address. These instances are numerous
enough to overflow a volume, and there is little purpose to be served
by selection: it would not serve the only purpose for which we could
justifiably prolong this memoir. Mr Moore, in an ample volume, has,
we believe, given a faithful picture of Sheridan. The most vivid and
characteristic ideas of his personal habits and peculiarities may per-
haps best be looked for in the Reminiscences of Michael Kelly.
112 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
But, however they may in his lifetime constitute the man, per-
sonal defects and excellencies have no surviving power. They can-
not be adequately represented by specimens. These can be but
scattered reflections, which leave behind no image. Sense and truth
may survive, but convivial pleasantry has no record, The raciest
humour evaporates on the page, and grows dull as the crambe of " Joe
Miller." It is as a comic dramatist of the first order that Sheridan
must hold his place. As an orator, we cannot rate him very highly:
we do not subscribe to the test of success. To be a test, success
must be abiding — it must rest on something essential. The ultimate
reputation of authors, though submitted to a more cold and deliberate
judgment than the speech of a popular orator, is not in many instances
settled by their first reception. The public taste, sentiment, and
passion, are variously swayed by circumstances of the most transient
effect; but true fame is fixed by the sentence of deliberate and enlight-
ened judgment, which comes after the momentary burst of popular
excitement, or the silly craze of fashion. This is more closely appli-
cable to the public speaker than to any other display of human talent.
There is in great crowds, under the excitement of an interesting occa-
sion, not only an enormous development of sympathy, but a prepos-
session of the mind, which anticipates and is ready to find glowing
eloquence and the most impressive representations. Under such an
impression, it is only conceivable by experience, how much effect can
be produced on the heated audience by the glitter of conceits — by
obvious and flimsy turns of rhetorical dexterity. There are well-
known instances where a court of justice has been affected by a
sparkling effusion of mere language, in which even the subject was
forgotten by the pleader ; because, in fact, his remote and tumid
allusions were applied to the real subject, even beyond their meaning,
by the preconceptions of the jury. On the same data nearly, it might
be explained, that a speech of the most accomplished excellence,
while it may produce all the direct effect that eloquence can occasion,
must, at the same time, be only justly appreciated by a very few
hearers, and those the most self-possessed and unheated, or the most
judicious and enlightened. We know it will be said, the only use of
a speech is to produce the very effects which we are thus attempting
to underrate. We do not assent to this: but we do not require to dis-
pute it here; let it be granted. We have only to answer, that if the
object and character of oratory be lowered to something so contempt-
ible and low as the mere practice on the passions and sympathies of
the crowd, it cannot have any pretension to a more permanent praise.
Such, in point of fact, is not the pretension of that language in which
Sheridan has been praised as an orator. We ground our decision on
the consideration that all the remains of Sheridan as a speaker, or as
a writer of plain prose, in which most of the same capabilities should
appear, do not in any instance rise very far above clever mediocrity;
and much, which we know to have been admired and rapturously
applauded, was mere tumid verbiage, in the very worst taste — not to
be praised for its sense, and displaying little of that other species of
pretension which would best be tested by putting it into verse. As
a debater, we are convinced that Sheridan's merit must have been
PERIOD.] FRANCIS, MARQUIS OF HASTINGS. 113
considerable ; for in this, his happy address, and the poignancy of
his prompt and abundant wit, could not fail of their effect.
But, as we have said, it is with the dramatist alone posterity is
concerned. As a dramatist, so far as the genius of the author is to
be considered or the success of the piece, there is, in truth, no deduc-
tion of importance to be made. We have already entered in some
degree into the merits of the School for Scandal, which cannot but be
looked on as the masterpiece of its author, and most truly representa-
tive of the real powers of his intellect. Mr Moore has traced it to a
slow accumulation of the result of labour and the concentration of
long-collected wit. He has detailed a curious and instructive history
— the slow steps of a progress in which two distinct sketches, differing
in plot, became at length amalgamated into one. He has followed out
the still more interesting process by which stray wit and the char-
acteristic strokes of satire were caught, treasured, refined, and
condensed into the brilliant and dazzling excess which flows so
copiously in every sentence of the School for Scandal. From the MS.
remains of his studies for this piece, it is plain with what diligence he
seized and improved every suggestion, and turned every point in every
aspect, until it was placed to the best advantage. In *his margins, it
seems to have been his habit to write down his unappropriated points,
to wait the occasion when they might be best brought in. And
thus, by consummate skill, was worked out the result of consummate
genius.
Mr Moore has been most unjustly blamed for withdrawing4 the veil
from the mystery of the poet's laboratory. We entirely disagree with
so unfair a charge. It was the duty of the biographer. Without its
close, true, and impartial representation of the actual merits of the
person, biography would be a task too degrading for any qualified
mind. What, it may be asked, is the memory of the departed to pos-
terity, but a portrait or a lessou ? Where, without impartial truth,
would be the faith of history? which is, if not true, the worst of all
romances. But the defence is not wanting. The history of Sheridan's
works is but a modification of the history of genius; sometimes slowly
maturing the magnum opus, and always, either consciously or uncon-
consciously, collecting and ripening the form and materials. When
Mr Moore shall have added one more to the list of departed poets, it is
to be trusted that his varied life and brilliant productions will merit
a historian and a commentator as instructive and impartial as himself.
te of
CORN 1754.— DIED 1825.
GEORGE RAWDON, of Rawdon in Yorkshire, came over with the earl
of Stratford, and settled in Ireland, about the middle of the seventeenth
century. He was an active soldier in the rebellion of 1641; and, it
is said, took a respectable and useful part in the affairs of the country
during his time.* His great-grandson, Sir John Rawdon, was raised
* Burke's Peerage.
VOL. Vf. H
1 1 1 1'OMTICAL SKIM MS. [Til Til
in 1750 to tlic peerage, ns baron Kawdon of Kawdon, in the county
of I )own.
The grandson of this last-mentioned person \v;is I-Yaneis, the sub-
ject of our memoir. He was born in 1754, at the family mansion in
Down. Of his early life, and education, it is needless to say more
than that lie was educated in u manner suitable to his birth. lin-
early conceived a passion for the military life, and entered the service
young1, ui'ter having1, as was then usual, given some time to foreign
travel. \Vheu the American war broke out, he was a lieutenant in
the fifth grenadier regiment. He was present at the memorable and
bloody fight of Bunker's-hill, in which he- was one of seven of his
company who escaped: his cap was perforated by two bullets. Oa
this occasion, he received the honourable testimony from the general
( Hurgoyne), in his despatch, "Lord Kawdon has this day stamped his
lame for life."
In 1778 he was promoted to the rank of colonel, and appointed
adjutant-general to the army under general Sir 11. Clinton. JJy
many distinguished services, he confirmed his growing reputation and
displayed his capacity for command. As a consequence, much was
trusted to his judgment and activity; and lie was soon detached, on a
separate command, in South Carolina. In this charge hi; conducted
the force committed to his charge so as to acquire fresh praise ; and in
some time after, when lord Cornwallis a, second time left him in the
command of an inconsiderable force, in the same district, he had to
maintain himself against the combined mauieuvres of two American
corps, under dillerent generals; in Avhich extreme dilliculty In
erted so much superior skill, promptitude, and decision, that the enemy
found it necessary to retreat before they could make any impression
on his position. Soon after, a very superior force was collected to
dislodge him. It was encamped on a hill while preparing to attack
him, and delaved only for the arrival of some reinforcements, which
were fast coming up, and immediately expected to arrive. As lord
Ivawdon was aware of the circumstance, it occurred to him that the
most expedient step would be to anticipate the event, by a prompt
attack on the enemy's entrenchments on I lobkirk-hill. .By a well
planned and directed movement, he reached the most accessible point
of approach, without being- perceived by the adverse commander
((Ireeii). Some dexterous man<eu\ ring followed on both sides ; but
lord Kawdon perceived and balllcd the intentions of his antagonist ;
and when the Americans came rushing down the hill, under cover of
a heavy cannonade, a sudden extension of the British front recci\ed
the charge, and disconcerted the design of their general. The conse-
quence was a total rout, and a victory glorious for lord Kawdon.
In the decline of the British affairs (which had been sadly mis-
managed by the commanders, who were ill chosen for the weighty
charge of u war so extensive, and still more entangled by the fatal
usage then adopted, of cabinet interference and dictation), lord Coru-
wallis became ill; and the retreat of the troops in South Carolina
having been judged advisable, the charge of the movement was in-
trusted to the experienced ability of lord Kawdon. \Ye shall only
here say, that the important and most difficult trust was most fully
PKRIOD.] FRANCIS, MARQUIS OF HASTINGS. 115
justified by a retreat conspicuous in military annals for the courage,
circumspection, skill, and judgment with which it was conducted. In
tlu; course of this duty, lord Rawdon's bodily health gave way to the
united ('fleets of labour, anxiety, and the heat of the season in that
sultry climate. lie was, in consequence, compelled to travel in a
cart, from which he directed the march. Such an eil'ort was by no
means likely to restore his strength; and the illness increased so much,
that he was under the necessity of sailing for England. The vessel
in which his lordship sailed was taken at sea by a French frigate, and
carried to Brest, lie was not, however, long destined to be a pri-
soner; but was exchanged, and returned to England.
His lordship's honourable services in America were rewarded with
a promotion to the English peerage, as baron Rawdon of Uavvdon, in
the county of York.
In 171K5, by the death of his father, lord Kawdon succeeded to the
earldom of Moira, the title by which he was long an object of popu-
larity in Ireland.
As a politician, it is not necessary to follow his lordship with any
precision. It will be enough to say, that in this, as in his professional
career, he manifested considerable talent, and as much judgment as
could properly be looked for in the opinions of a clear-headed
and sagacious man, who had not been educated as a statesman. In
the practical details, there is a great affinity between the capabilities
of military command, on a large scale, and those of political conduct;
but in the latter, so much knowledge, of a nature both extensive and
profound, is essential to the exercise of the ablest understanding, that
none but genius of the highest order can be expected to be much
more than an effective in the foremost ranks of party, without such
preparation. Though we may admit that the highest nature, the no-
blest intentions, and the most exalted spirit of humanity, will, at least,
ensure a thorough freedom from all the misconduct and failure which
inevitably, in the end, result from the ordinary interference of those
selfish and family interests which constitute so much of the real and
interior policy of public men.
His lordship had an Opportunity to signalize his military genius in
the expedition under the duke of York, sent in 1793 to the assist-
ance of the States-general in Flanders. A body of troops, of which
he was in command, being ordered to Flanders, he embarked and
landed with them at Ostend. The country was entirely in possession
of the French forces; and it was only by the exertion of much skill,
dai-ing, and readiness of resource, that his lordship was enabled so to
avail himself of favourable incidents as to join the English army. In
the course of the movements essential for this purpose his lordship
had a smart action with the enemy, in which he repulsed them.
On his return to England, he entered, with his natural activity,
into the politics of his time, and joined the minority in the house of
lords.
When the Union was proposed, he strenuously opposed it; but
when it was carried in the Irish parliament, he admitted that his
objections were removed by their consent. He also assented to the
fairness of the provisions of the bill.
116 POLITICAL SERIES, [FlFTH
Having been appointed commander of the forces in Scotland, he
became as popular there as in Ireland. One of the most popular
Scottish tunes was, for a long time, " Lord Moira's Welcome to
Scotland."
In this island, his affability, public spirit, and humanity, so endeared
him to the people, that the United Irishmen seem for a while to have
entertained the hope that he might be drawn into their views. They
were, of course, soon made aware of their error.
On the death of his mother, he succeeded to the honours of her
family.
In 1804, he married Miss Flora Campbell, countess of Loudon.
He was employed, in 1812, to form a liberal administration; but the
negociation did not succeed ; and soon after he was appointed governor-
general of Bengal.
In 1816, he was created viscount Loudon, and advanced to the rank
of marquis of Hastings.
He returned to England in 1 822 ; and, soon after, his health began
visibly to decline. He, nevertheless, accepted of the government of
Malta — it is said, from the embarrassment of his circumstances. His
death was hastened by a fall from his horse, and occurred in 1825.
He was a good and high-hearted nobleman, with very considerable
talents, much skill in his profession, and a true zeal for the honour
and welfare of the kingdom. He was also kind and affectionate in
the private relations of life, generous and considerate towards his
dependants, kind to his friends, and exercised a munificent liberality
and hospitality to all who came within his circle; and though many
inheritances seem to have devolved upon him, yet his expenditure
appears to have made him poor in the end.
ffieorge (banning*
BORN 1770. — DIED 1827.
THE ancestor of Mr Canning came into Ireland, in the reign of
queen Elizabeth, as a military officer, and obtained a grant of the
manor of Garbagh, in the county of Londonderry. The fourth in
descent from this gentleman, Mr Stratford Canning, was married to
Miss Letitia Newburgh of Ballyhouse, in the county of Cavan. His
son by this lady, Mr George Canning, offended his father, by marry-
ing without his consent, and was disinherited in consequence. He
was a man of considerable talent; and, forming expectations of retriev-
ing his fortunes by literature, he removed to London, where he pub-
lished a volume of poems, and entered as a student in the Middle
Temple. In the following year, his wife gave birth to a son. In
one year more, this unfortunate gentleman died, leaving his wife and
infant in a precarious condition.*
* There seems to have prevailed a general ignorance of the country of Mr
(.'aiming. The entire of his life, from his birth, is so identified with England,
that this ignorance is excusable. Mr Canning claims to be an Irishman, in a
letter published in Lookhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott. The above particulars,
PERIOD.] GEORGE CANNING. 117
Canning's mother was thus left, with her infant, in a forlorn
condition, — from which she was extricated by a marriage with an
actor and by employment as an actress. This person did not live
long; and she then married a Mr Hunn, a linen-draper of Exeter.
Mr Canning's grandfather, whose inveteracy had exposed his parents
to the vicissitudes of fortune, at last began to relent, and secured to
his grandson a small estate in Ireland, which yielded the independent
means for his education.
At the proper age he was sent to Eton, and quickly attained all the
reputation of a schoolboy. He was more especially distinguished for
the ease and elegance of his exercises in Latin and English. Among-
other qualities, which afterwards were distinguishable in his maturer
efforts, was the abundant and happy vein of irony of which he was so
perfect a master.
From Eton, at seventeen, he was removed to Oxford. There, too,
he maintained his growing reputation. With the profound ambition
which was one of the main impulses of his character, his whole con-
duct at Oxford was characterized by the most concentrated exertion
and prudence. His associations with others were governed by an
unerring soundness of judgment; his talents were cultivated — his
memory stored with all that was ornamental or available in learning
for»the course he had already marked for himself.
Having left the university, he entered his name at Lincoln's Inn.
For a time, he followed the study of the law, — of which the history
and general principles form the indispensable foundation of the states-
man's still profounder though less defined science. That he must
have aimed at something farther than a mere profession, will seem
probable, on a consideration of his character and position at the time.
His extensive attainments, and splendid powers; his aspiring temper;
his reputation, which had reached London before his arrival; — are
elements of success, which, in a far less degree than belonged to
him, must have turned any one who possessed them to public life.
The prediction, attributed to lord Lansdowne, that Canning would
one day be prime-minister, has at least one value: it cannot fail to
have been founded on a perception of the bent as well as the power
of his mind. Such a prediction would not, for example, be hazarded
with regard to Scott or Byron, who were still superior to Canning in
their powers; or with respect to lord Eldon, who, in his walk, was not
inferior. It was neither the attainment nor the mere amount of power,
but the whole animus of the man, which such a conjecture ascertains,
He quickly became an object of similar expectations in London
society. He showed his superiority in the societies in which the
young lawyers and aspirants for public life met to try or practise
their powers. He was no less remarkable, in private circles, for his
information, sparkling intelligence, wit, and address. He was intro-
duced to most of the leading men of the whigs, and there Avas a
general expectation that he would join their ranks.
Such expectations were disappointed when Mr Canning was brought
which we give on the authority of Mr Burke, in his " Peerage," sets any doubt
at rest.
118 POLITICAL SERIES [FlFTH
into parliament, by Mr Pitt for the borough of Newport, in 1790.
Of the exertions of eloquence and reason by which this selection was
justified, we cannot write in detail, as it would, for this purpose, be
necessary to branch out into many questions on which, for obvious
reasons, we cannot satisfactorily enter. In three years more (1796),
iMwas appointed one of the under-secretaries of state by Pitt. With
Mr Pitt he went out of office, in 1801 ; and returned on the declaration
of war, in 1 804, when he was appointed treasurer of the navy.
The death of Pitt, in 1 806, dissolved the administration, and de-
prived Mr Canning of a powerful patron. He was, however, sufficiently
advanced in estimation to be independent of the support of a patron.
Powers such as he possessed, if once placed fully on their appropriate
sphere and course of action, can hardly need further support. He was
also freed from the ties of influence and authority which bound him,
in some measure, to the strict line of Mr Pitt's views of policy. He
had learned his own strength from many an honourable trial, and fixed
his eye and thought on the highest point of attainment. To use his
own language, he buried his allegiance in Mr Pitt's grave.
Still adhering, nevertheless, to the main principles of the policy he
had already contributed to adorn and support, he took his part effec-
tively in the contest with the Grenville party, which ended in the esta-
blishment of that sound and constitutional system of conduct which,
under the mercy of God, at last freed France from a murderous des-
potism, and Europe from the iron and merciless domination of a single
tyrant's will. In 1807, he came again into office with the duke of
Portland, as secretary for foreign affairs; thus, for the first time, be-
coming a cabinet minister.
The succession of great and interesting events which followed, are
too well known, and too variously related, to be told otherwise than
in the minutest detail. We therefore only advert to such incidents
as our immediate purpose demands.
Mr Canning was among the first and most efficient in stimulating the
energies of England to the most honourable war, both in its object
and event, that has as yet taken its place in the records of history.
In 1 809, Mr Canning was implicated in a quarrel with lord Castle -
reagh, on account of a misunderstanding on the part of this nobleman,
as to some effort of Mr Canning's to have him removed from the war-
office. He was accused by lord C. of having expressly, but privately,
made a stipulation with the duke of Portland to that effect, and thus
made his lordship's continuance in office subject to his own pleasure,
while he still continued to sit in the same cabinet with him. Such
conduct was, in the opinion of the noble lord, not to be endured ; and
he demanded satisfaction in a letter. Mr Canning briefly replied, and,
without offering any explanation or denial, further than might be con-
veyed in the assertion that his lordship's letter was full of " misre-
presentations and misapprehensions," consented to give him the re-
quired satisfaction. They accordingly met, and Mr Canning was
slightly wounded. An explanation, exculpatory of Mr Canning, was
circulated, to the effect that the concealment of which he was accused
was contrary to his wishes and express remonstrances, and that he
had no discretion as to the time of the proposed change. He had first
PERIOD.] GEORGE CANNING. 119
stipulated for it, and then consented to its postponement to a certain
periodjwhichthe dukehad fixed on as convenient. We cannot enter into
details, which can now have no very general interest; but it seems that,
without any fault on his own part, Mr Canning was placed in a false
position by the intrigues of the premier.
The consequence of this quarrel was, the resignation of both parties.
We shall but briefly comment on the disgraceful character of this, and
all such appeals to the pistol. Nothing can be said that is not obvious
to the humblest common sense. They are unmeaning and absurd, if
they were not criminal. If referred to the vindictive principle, they
are a perversion which, if the consequences were not often so lamen-
table, would be nearly ridiculous: if referred to the higher principle
which they offend — they amount to a crime of the deepest dye — an open
and direct contempt of God. They can redress no grievance, — they
wipe away no stain. A man may be a liar, a swindler in his dealings,
a blackleg on the turf, a cheat at play, a traducer of his friend, a cor-
rupter of innocence, — in a word, all that language can express of
infamous and base, — and fearlessly stake body and soul in this lottery
of death. He may even be a coward; for cowards, who are apt to
quarrel, will involve themselves in the necessity of braving what they
fear. For coward and brave, the duel is but a barbarous homage to
the idol opinion, — an absurdity which has outlived the superstition
which once gave it a wrongful meaning, — the test of a most audacious
and blasphemous appeal to the Supreme Being, by an express violation
of his laws. No comment on this practice can be required in the way
of mere exposure: we but here record our opinion, as in duty bound.
Could we afford it, much might be usefully suggested as to the course
which ought to be taken for its extinction. But we can only add, that
the course hitherto adopted is rather contradictory. It is not to be
admitted that a person can justly be placed in so false a position as a
military man has of late years been subjected to. It is unjust to make
a man criminal by law for doing that which, if he does not do, he is
liable to be cashiered for cowardice. Such Spartan legislation will
answer no purpose : until the appeal to arms is placed out of the ques-
tion, by full provisions to meet every stage of such transactions, law is
as nothing. The man who considers himself pledged to risk his life,
is fully prepared to meet all consequences. The law must cut the
knot — as silly as a love-knot — of a spurious honour — an honour consis-
tent with all rascality. More right, just, and true conventions must
be settled: in a civilized age, and a Christian country, they need not be
mentioned. Surely the time is not very far off, when that species of
grievance which is termed insult to that portion of a fool and a cox-
comb which is calle'd his honour, and which no anatomist of mind or
body would be able to find, will be out of date. If a real effective
slander can be repelled in a more rational way, there is no harm done,
save to the slanderer — exposure is revenge: if it cannot, not all the
blood in the camp or cabinet can wash it away. But we have gone
far beyond our purpose. ,.,„
Mr Canning did not again appear in the cabinet till 1816. He
then was appointed president of the Board of Control, under lord
Liverpool, who had been his schoolfellow and friend in the university
120 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
In the interval, he had the distinguished honour to be elected (1812)
for Liverpool. He was sent ambassador to Lisbon in 1814, and had
to sustain those assaults which are little more than the ordinary war-
fare of party, and may well be passed.
In 1820, after a troubled interval of office, during a time when the
internal peace of England was broken by the pressure of a general
collapse among the various trade interests, consequent on the changes
from so long a war, Mr Canning was induced to resign, by his reluc-
tance to be a party to the proceedings against the queen-consort of
George IV., to whom he had formerly acted as an adviser. To avoid
being present, he retired to the continent.
On his return, he was nominated to the government of India by the
Company; and was on the eve of departure, when the death of the
marquis of Londonderry occurred. This made an opening for him of a
kind more suitable to his wishes; and he was appointed secretary of
state for foreign affairs.
The politics of the administration, of which he thus became part,
cannot, with any propriety, be compressed. We do not wish to
entangle our pen in unsupported statements on the politics, so nearly
those of the present day. It must be enough to say, that Mr Canning's
views, while he yet belonged to the tories, were those of a constitu-
tional whig,— a whig of the school of Burke, — perhaps a tory of the
present hour. The consequence was, that a strong sense of alienation
grew between him and some of the leading persons among his party.
Of this he was destined to feel the consequences, perhaps to be the
victim. Mr Canning's generosity, and the expansive liberality of his
principles, — his zeal for the welfare of his country, and for the freedom
of every nation, — were nobly manifested in his entire conduct ; but they
were not tempered by a clear insight into the actual state of Europe.
He did not see, what was then become apparent to some leading
spirits alone, the vast fermentation of a rising change in the whole
mind of Europe — a revolution still but in its beginnings. Mr Canning
did not, in his zealous liberality, perceive the rocking of the ground-
swell on which thrones and institutions were trembling. He did not
feel, as we could wish he had felt, that every retarding power would be
required to withstand the fearful acceleration which must be necessarily
consequent on the wide-spreading combination of opinions, powers, and
increased numerical intelligence, with other causes of a physical
character, then imperfectly anticipated. In the "holy alliance," he only
saw the ambition of kings: it escaped his observation strangely, that
whatever may be the individual self-interest which will always be
found bound up with the best designs of men of whatever rank, the
main design of that alliance was just, honourable, and founded in the
strictest right. They were truly bonded against those evils against
which they professed to declare ; and it is our belief, that they were
leagued also against evils only to be (then) apprehended by those
few whose position made it difficult for them to be deceived. Mr
Canning, with the purest integrity and the noblest feelings, unfor-
tunately took a narrow view of policy: he looked to local interests and
partial questions ; and, consequently, showed a temper to act in resis-
tance to a far broader and deeper policy — that of his friends and
PERIOD ] GEORGE CANNING. 121
colleagues in office. The consequence was to him unhappy. We
ought at the same time to add, that we do not mean to pronounce
against many of the main acts of Mr Canning's policy during this
interval, in which, so far as we are enabled to judge, we see the
highest ground for approbation.
When lord Liverpool was incapacitated by a paralytic stroke for
the duties of his office, Mr Canning was commanded to form a cabinet.
He applied to the leading tories ; and, as every one is aware, failed, in
a manner that was likely to make a painful impression upon his sensi-
tive temper. He was therefore compelled to have recourse to his poli-
tical opponents, and was thus thrown into the unfortunate predicament
of a coalition always injurious to the public character of a states-
man, and liable to entanglements and false positions, except in those
instances when it is the early eft'ect of changes arising from ex-
perience, the result of principle, and not the resource of party position.
This step on the part of Mr Canning, was rendered perhaps the
less injurious to his reputation, as the change of conduct and principle
to which it seemed to lead, had, for a considerable time previous,
been strongly suspected; and was, in fact, the obstacle to his obtaining
the sanction of his former friends. He was not the less subject to
painful and mortifying consequences: he had become a prime minis-
ter, without the real substantial support of any party. He felt at his
back, an alliance with which he had no real community of principle —
for his conversion was but half-way. There was a pressure upon
him, and he could not well escape being precipitated into distressing
and difficult positions, in which those who had been his friends would
be his opponents and his censurers ; while he would be cheered on by
those whom he could not respect.
We shall not more distinctly review the policy of his administration
— it brought with it a popularity with which the spirit of Canning was
too noble to be satisfied. It brought also an ample train of far more
mortifying and embarrassing irritations and annoyances, which sunk
deeply on his spirit, and in a few months brought him to his grave.
He caught cold at the duke of York's funeral: it was aggravated by
the wearing effects of continual and painful excitements, and closed
his existence in the 57th year of his age.
As an orator, take him for all in all, Mr Canning had no rival in
our times — he was the last, and perhaps the most accomplished, of
that splendid class among which he is to be numbered. Without the
matchless powers of Mr Burke, he had the strenuous will to excel,
which, with the aid of a rich wit, and a fine rhetorical tact, always
secured for his oratory a degree of finish, and a style, which the
" careless grandeur" of Mr Burke mostly disregarded. In the full
attainment of academic culture, and all those acquirements which are
the result of the most ambitious and successful study, he excelled his
contemporaries: above all, he was master of the treasury of Grecian
and Roman literature. As a rhetorician, we know of no modern
name to be compared with his; but irony was his unrivalled weapon:
if rivalled, only perhaps by Tierney, another Irishman, far his in-
ferior in all other respects. On the profounder powers of Mr Canning's
understanding, we shall only say, he was a man of powerful capacities ;
122 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiriH
but we are not impressed with the conviction that any portion of his
excellence lay in the depth or vigour of a strong comprehensive
reason. It may happen that brilliant popular qualifications will carry
their possessor into positions where plainer and more weighty powers
are required to maintain the reputation gained from the less discri-
minate sense of the public mind. We speak cautiously of Mr Canning-
— there was perhaps more to be known had he lived; but we speak
our impression from all that we find stated by his friends and ad-
mirers. Entirely avoiding all questions of recent British politics,
as demanding a scope for statement far beyond our disposal, we
cannot say more. So far as we have ventured to weigh the political
character of Mr Canning, the consideration was necessary to the views
preserved throughout these memoirs.
In private life, none could stand higher than he did for worth
or social amiability. He was mild, affable, and unaffected in his
deportment, and highly endowed with the best and kindliest affections.
On the rich and varied attractions of his conversation, we have the
high testimony of Sir Walter Scott.
ffieovge
BORN A. D. 1761. — DIED A. D. 1830*
Ma TIERNEY'S father was a native of the county or town of Limerick.
He became a prize-agent in Gibraltar. There his son was born. He
received his education at Cambridge, and is said to have been de-
signed for the legal profession. His course of life was altered by the
death of his elder brothers, which made him master of affluence.
He selected the house of commons for his scene of exertion, and
obtained his election for Colchester. In parliament, his distinguished
powers of sarcasm and sneer — his prompt shrewdness, and fluent com-
mand of a plain colloquial idiom, most adapted for the application of
those powers, made him an adversary not much to be desired. He
was remarkable for his power of caricaturing the arguments he wished
to decry; and, as with most persons ridicule is more effective than
reason, he was thus most formidable in the ranks of opposition, for
which his mind was pre-eminently adapted.
In 1798, having been accused by Mr Pitt of an opposition to " the
bill for stopping seamen's protections, from a wish to impede the
service of the country," a challenge and a duel followed, between him
and Mr Pitt. They met, and fired two cases of pistols on Putney
Heath, but with no result.
Mr Tierney took office as treasurer of the navy in Mr Addington's
administration — and once more, we believe, after the death of Mi-
Fox. There is, however, little ground for any exception to the
general statement, that he was a steady and consistent opponent to all
government measures. It would be unfair to assert that he had not
a sincere political creed, to which he conscientiously adhered; but
there is much in his tone, manner, and public habit, to suggest the
idea of vexatious opposition. This is perhaps chiefly suggested by
PERIOD.] GEORGE TIERNEY. 123
the very artificial character of his manner of statement and reason-
ing: his points were too commonly shrewd appeals to prejudice and
ignorance, too often merely wit. In the perusal of such arguments as
those Mr Tierney, and generally the supporters of the same questions,
had recourse to, it is often forced upon the mind that the speaker
docs not believe his own inference. But to this Mr Tierney was
perhaps one of the exceptions, if such a rule were to be allowed.
It exceedingly seldom happens that men so shrewd have much capa-
bility of thinking justly on the broader questions of policy, or on
any other of the more profound branches of human thought. Their
true province is computation, in which the process of thought de-
mands strictness, minute caution, nice perception, and steady atten-
tion. And, accordingly, Mr Tierney would have been an exceedingly
clear and able financier. He was too subtile, had too much lively
and prompting's*?, for the vague, complex, and imprecise phenomena
of social workings on a large scale, which demand qualities of a
different description — steady and reflecting observation, comparison,
considerate judgment, and freedom from the sway of opinion and the
entanglement arising from unessential considerations — too often tho
stumbling-block of very clever people.
Mr Tierney took office under Mr Canning, and was made master
of the mint.
He died suddenly, January, 1830.
We add an extract, descriptive of his style as a public speaker, from
a very able character of him in the Animal Obituary. " As a speaker,
Mr Tierney was exceedingly original. From the moment he opened
his mouth, until he sat down, the attention of his hearers never flag'ged
for one moment. In a style which never rose above the colloquial,
the most cutting sarcasms, level to the most ordinary understanding,
escaped from him, as if he were himself unaware of their terrible
effect. His sneer was withering. Of all the speakers, contemporaries
of Mr Tierney, no one was so much dreaded as he was. His irony
was inimitable. From the simplicity of his language, the reporter
never misunderstood him ; but from the rapidity of his colloquial
turns, and the instant roar with which they were followed in the
house, it was impossible to record all that fell from him ; and the
reports, therefore, though almost always characteristic of him, were
far from complete. But his manner and intonation added greatly to
the effect of what he said. It was the conversation of a shrewd,
sagacious man of the world, who delivered his observations on the
subjects under discussion with apparent candour, which contrasted
singularly with the knowing tone and look of the speaker. His mode
of taking an argument to pieces, and reconstructing it in his own way,
astonished his hearers, who, recognised the fidelity of the copy, yet
felt at a loss how he had himself failed to perceive, during the pre-
ceding speech, what seemed now so palpably absurd," £c. Though
it is allowed, that ridicule is not the test of truth, it is evident how
much it disturbs the apprehension of it: and it is easy to see how
much more effective this practice is likely to be in popular assemblies,
than the methods of an understanding more deeply engrossed with the
principles of the question, and the real details of the subject. • The
124 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
writer of the preceding extract thinks it necessary to vindicate Mr
Tierney from a charge of limited knowledge: his remarks just prove
the fact of the existence of such an imputation. We wish to have it
understood, that while it falls in very well with the opinion we have
here expressed, it is by no means coincident with it. Our view is
simply, that his mind was not of the order that deals with deep or
extensive knowledge; and this is confirmed by the description of his
admirer, and the mere fact of the suspicion having existed. Mr
Tierney may have mastered the Encyclopedia — he may have devoured
libraries; but the contents were never assimilated, and had little part
in the operations of his mind.
&tc6arir, 3£ai1 of Uonousfimore.
BORN, A. D. 1756. DIED A. D. 1825.
WE have already had to notice the right honourable John Hely
Hutchinson, the father of the late earl of Donoughmore. This
nobleman graduated in the university of Dublin; and became, when
of age, a member of the Irish parliament. He attached himself to
the whigs, from which the course which he took on the questions
which then agitated the public may be easily enough ascertained. With
respect to his personal character as a politician, there is all reason to
believe that he was thoroughly free from the imputation of factious
views, and that he had in every act the good of Ireland at heart.
The main question with which his parliamentary life is identified,
is that which is known by the phrase Catholic Emancipation. This
he pursued steadily through life. The grounds on which he and all
the advocates on his side of this question placed their views, were
in the abstract just, and consistently to be inferred from the soundest
principles of humanity, law, and government ; and such as do
honour to their wisdom and humanity. The arguments which were
opposed to them are not less creditable to their opponents. It was
one of those questions, in the discussion of which, the actual realities
which were under consideration differed remotely on either side.
And, between them, the proper question was mostly allowed to fall to
the ground. On one side were stated general principles, and a case
of great hardship; on the other, special grounds, which they believed,
and which, if true, made a most necessary exception to those rules.
It can hardly be denied that the claim of rights must be limited at
some point, by co-relative duties of subjection to the laws under which
they arise, and the essential self-preserving principle of all law and
all right.
In November, 1797, this nobleman was created viscount Suirdale;
and in 1800, earl of Donoughmore.
In July, 1821, he was created viscount Hutchinson, in the peerage
of Great Britain.
He was a lieutenant-general in the army. He never married. His
death occurred 25th August, 1825.
PEKIOD.] ROBERT, MARQUIS OF LONDONDERRY. 125
of
BOUN, A. D. 1769. — DIED, A. D. 1822.
THE eminent nobleman whom we are now to notice, at a length very-
inadequate to the importance of his eventful history, was the son of
the first marquis of Londonderry. He was educated at Armagh,
and sent to Cambridge in 1786. He was early remarkable for the
grace and suavity of his address ; and no less so, for the cool intrepidity
often so usefully displayed in his political life.
On attaining majority, he stood for the county of Down, and was
elected. He commenced his political career with the popular party,
as most young men will whose aim is political activity, and who
are not controlled by such connections as leave no will to the
young. The first feelings of youthful inexperience are popular
sympathies: the earliest opinions partake of the nature of pre-
judices. But, independent of predilection, there is always a greater
facility for display, and the exercise of unfledged experience, in the
ranks of opposition : its complaints and reproaches are the aptest themes
for youthful declamation. Any pelting of stones or of clods may pass
on the side of assailants, who are in fact understood to be merely such;
there is no reproach for inaccuracy — no serious detriment from absur-
dity. There is no responsibility, and therefore no nervous vigilance,
precaution, and abstemiousness of statement, required. A young man
too, is allowed the privilege of changing sides, when experience, aud
maturity of knowledge and judgment, may claim at least to be the
causes of the change.
His debut in the house was successful : on this occasion he spoke
for the right of Ireland to trade with India, in disregard of the char-
tered rights of the company. He even presided at a public dinner,
where the seditious toast, " Our sovereign lord, the people," was
drunk. He supported the cause of parliamentary reform, and railed
us stoutly against government as any of his party.
To what extent, or by what degrees or means, his eyes became
clearly open to the errors and inconsistencies of the leaders of the
Irish opposition, we have no means of judging.
Fortunately for his fame, and for the safety of Ireland, then at the
point of a destructive rebellion, and which had for ten previous years
been maturing its forces under the varied pretexts of popular agitation,
he found reason to quit the unprincipled party which at that time lent
their pernicious sanction to the United Irishmen. We think ourselves
thus at liberty to assert briefly what we have already proved in detail.
That the repetition is not here superfluous, will be fully understood
by those who have but cursorily looked through "the various histories,
papers, or speeches, in which allusion is made to the life of lord
Castlereagh. We are by no means desirous to be ranked among his
admirers ; and have always felt that he was, at a later period, placed,
by a combination of circumstances and personal advantages, in a
position above his real capabilities. But we deeply revolt at the
injustice with which he, in common with greater men, has been
123 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
treated. A fair and full view of the actual state of Ireland at the
interval now in question, exhibiting- the total decomposition of its
moral and social elements — the entire want of any system of constitu-
tional principles, privileges, or powers, except in the mouths of de-
claimers — and the visible emergencies by which the government and
peaceful part of the community were menaced — would plainly demon-
strate the utter absurdity of those summary accusations, which Irish
writers affirm for party purposes, and English writers echo, because
they cannot understand how such loud and reiterated assertion
should be so false, or so much violent animosity unfounded ; unless
indeed in the inflammable zeal of that vice which is said by the poet
to kindle with its own progress: —
*' Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit eundo,
Parva rnetu primo, mox sese attollit in aures,
Ingrediturque solo, et caput inter nubila condit."
That the Irish administration should suffer itself to be so shut in
by the forms of a constitution which had no virtual existence, and
was not recognised but for cavil — under emergencies, too, against
which the most established constitution would be a farce — as to suffer
all the institutions, the interests, and the entire of the social commu-
nity, which it was their sole duty to guard, to be confused, harassed,
and finally crushed by a combination of traitors and cut-throats —
such was the moderate requisition of the popular leaders of that day.
According to their notions, it was a deep grievance, that in the very
presence of a gathering insurrection, connected with republican prin-
ciples and agents, of which no one could at the moment see the
extent or the end — that the perversion and the abuse of rules, designed
for peaceful states, was not allowed to be made the stalking-horse of
revolution. At that period, the whole peaceful and respectable part of
the community (that is to say, the people of Ireland,) stood in terror
and dismay; they were apprized of the horrors acting through Europe
— they were obscurely acquainted with the designs of the French on
Ireland; they were in the habit of hearing (from gentlemen like the
Emmets and Shearses) the wildest designs discussed in the social
circles, and the most horrible vaticinations and surmises of ills to
come. These surmises were not without foundation. At such a time,
indications arose, not to be mistaken by the lookers on, though easily
confounded now; and the government was soon struggling on the
ground with a ferocious conspiracy. With laws that had no power —
with an undisciplined and raw militia and yeomanry, and no very
certain clue to the actual position of an enemy whose main force lay
in the obscurity of its ambush: the government in that awful crisis
did its duty, in availing" itself of the only means which it possessed,
in its own and the country's defence. It used the indispensable and
perfectly legitimate aid of deserters and traitors, against the traitors
to whom they were untrue. It employed agents, who, being engaged
in no regular service, used irregular means — means not to be used by
persons of rank and refinement, but not unsuited to the coarse nature
of such persons as alone could be employed on a low detective service.
That such agents would commit abuses, was a matter of course, and
PERIOD.] ROBERT, MARQUIS OF LONDONDERRY. 127
not to be guarded against. The only resource, under these circum-
stances, would have been a system of police, which did not then exist,
even in its very elements.
These difficulties and unhappy necessities were heightened by the
powerful action of an eloquent, zealous, and vivacious opposition, some
of whom were enthusiasts, others superficial, others merely factious,
and not a few tainted with the licentious politics and philosophy of
the Jacobins — all perhaps, with a total disregard of consequences,
mainly intent on the ordinary aim of oppositions, to gratify their
party animosities, and overthrow their opponents. Such was the
ruinous game of Mr Fox in England ; and it is not likely that his Irish
imitators were more honest or wise.
But it is perhaps a fortunate provision, in the distribution of human
gifts, that the most practical powers of the understanding will be
found on the side of order and the peace of society. It is easier to
agitate and to rouse evil passions, than skillfully to conduct a civil
contest; and there was on the rebel side little understanding, and that
not the most influential, that could fairly cope with the practical
abilities of men like lord Clare.
Endowed with an active taste for political concerns, with strong
common sense, the firmest courage, and a thorough contempt of popular
influences, lord Castlereagh, however induced, chose the side on which
he could alone be respectably employed. He did not possess the bril-
liant antithesis, the pointed epigram, the flowered robe of metaphoric
diction, or the treasured refinements of Grecian and Koman genius,
to amplify the commonplaces of declamation, or give force and accep-
tance to popular fallacies. He would have been an obscure follower of
those great men whose eloquence could dignify a cause which admitted
little scope for candour, scrupulous truth, or practical common sense.
It would be little becoming his rank to be the pioneer of a conspiracy.
It may, therefore, \ve think, be with much reason assumed, that as
matters ripened for the crisis, and as the real tendencies of the popular
party became apparent, his lordship felt it unsuitable to remain in the
ranks of opposition, and brought his talent to its proper position on
the first available opportunity.
In 1798, it will be admitted that little doubt could remain as to
the real course of events. He then took the office of secretary under
lord Camden.
It will be merely sufficient to say, that having engaged on the side
of government, he gave the whole force of his activity, talent, and
address, to save the country, and put down an awful rebellion. He
was mainly instrumental to the final amendment of that disorderly and
most unconstitutional state of things from which it arose, by the mea-
sure of the union.
As a matter of course, he became unpopular in Ireland, and a
standing mark for abusive language, which, being the proper missile
of popular declamation, we should not object to, if, in this instance, it
did not sink below even its usual level of decency and propriety. In
the county of Down, he was rejected by his former constituents, and
Ci »nipelled to come into parliament on borough interest.
To follow his career in England would demand very considerable
128 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
detail of English and European politics, which, at this period of our
history, has not sufficient object in his lordship's memoir. We shall
therefore claim indulgence for a summary statement.
In 1805, he was appointed secretary at war and for the colonies;
and, with some interruptions, he retained office till the event of his
quarrel with Mr Canning, on which he resigned. In 1 8 1 2, he succeeded
the marquis of Wellesley as foreign secretary, in which office he con-
tinued till his death.
In this position his lordship was maintained by his consummate
address and power of management, his unwearied industry and steadi-
ness of purpose, and by the influence which these qualities were adapted
to acquire and preserve. His ability was efficiently employed in the
maintenance of the war policy ; but we cannot say that we consider his
abilities as fairly on a level with the great emergencies of the time. He
cannot be considered as responsible for the errors, on a great scale,
which protracted, and well-nigh frustrated the objects of the war. It
had too much been the established usage, to attempt to govern the move-
ments of foreign campaigns from the cabinet. The consequence was, not
only a deficiency in the provisions for the war, but the counteraction
of those talents and professional experience by which alone war can be
well conducted. On several occasions national disgrace and public dis-
couragement were risked and incurred by the consequences of defect-
ive forces, and generals hampered by unskilful prders. We do not
believe that the commander whose genius (under Providence) achieved
the ultimate triumph of British arms in the Peninsular war, could have
directed its operations from his seat in Downing street. But to who-
ever these misarrangements, which frustrated British valour and
military talent, are to be imputed, they were, we believe, happily
terminated in 1809, when the marquis Wellesley succeeded to the
war-office.
On the close of the war, lord Castlereagh went over to the congress
as plenipotentiary for England. We cannot enter upon the proceed-
ings of the congress, or of the kings and ministers of whom it was
composed; but its results had no slight influence on the fortunes and
reputation of the subject of this memoir. While we would vindicate,
and are ready to vindicate, the general principles of policy which were
on that occasion publicly recognised by the powers of Europe, we
consider it evident enough, that in the train of dispositions and arrange-
ments which, of necessity, claimed their attention, the common and
secret-working views of self-interest, which are never far away from
the human breast, were strongly roused by the numerous and various
suggestions of occasion for the re-arrangement and distribution of ter-
ritorial dominion, as well as from the essential necessity imposed on each
of the powers then present to regard every proposition with relation to
those consequences which might affect his own dominions. With-
out reproach to any one, it may well be inferred that the first high
and solemn impulses of religion and duty, at which the infidel and
Jacobin alone have sneered, soon passed away, and subsided under the
influence of more common and worldly motives. And consequently,
it might be inferred that the negotiations which followed, however a
sound principle might be mainly recognised and observed, would par-
ROBERT, MARQUIS OF LONDONDERUY. 129
take largely of the game of cabinet and diplomatic double-dealings.
Always keeping in view the one fact, that the assailants of the " Holy
Alliance" are here held to be spurious and vicious, and that nothing
which we have thus alleged in general terms is meant as concession
to Jacobinism or deism, we consider the congress to have been soon
led aside into the ordinary and intricate cross-purposes of diplomacy,
to which the genius of the marquis of Londonderry, or the degree of
influence and authority which he could command, were far from being
equal. His personal spirit was too high — his honour, and his sincerity
in the principles of action and arrangement, ostensibly adopted, were at
variance with the part and the tenor of action imposed upon him by in-
fluences which he did not know how to meet or how to resist. It is pro-
bable that he was too prompt to trust the sincerity of royal intriguers,
and their subtle ministers. But, however this may be, there is every
reason for believing that, in the result, his lordship found many strong
grounds for dissatisfaction with his own share in the proceedings of
the congress. The interests of England were not merely suffered to be
the last, but were seemingly neglected; and the lesser powers and com-
munities of Europe were treated with injustice and wrong. The high
spirit and political integrity of the marquis were evinced by a spirited
protest against some of the most reprehensible acts of the sovereigns.
But the sense of the little he had been able to effect in counteracting
what he condemned, or effecting what he considered right, fell heavily
on his spirits, — overwrought with toil, perplexity, and anxious care. He
had, from nearly the commencement of his public life, been exposed
to a current of vexations, such as would, in one-tenth of the time, have
killed most other men. He was the mark of popular hatred, for his
firm opposition to the principles of revolt and change; he was subject
to a sense of the mortifying disrespect of the abler men of his own
party, who held his lordship's abilities in less esteem than his pride
could be satisfied with. His ambition, exposed to frequent checks
and frequent mortifications, was much, though secretly irritated. His
great self-command, and excellent common-sense, prevented these
circumstances and affections from tainting- his ordinary manner or con-
duct ; but they made triumph essential, and defeat or humiliation deadly.
In the triumphs of England he had obtained his share, from the cordial
excitement of public feeling ; but with the return of calm, a cold reac-
tion was to follow, together with the keen-eyed criticism of the ablest
opponents, both political and personal. A fearful and protracted -re-
action was to commence — a long reckoning was to be paid — events were
to set m which would disappoint the expectations of the public mind of
Europe — what he had done, and failed to do, were to be sifted with
a firm hostility. What was wrong would be visited with the castiga-
tion of justice, severe in its moderation; — what was right would be
assailed with the foul missiles of democratic journalism and oratory.
Of this, much may well be assumed to have been present to his lord-
ship's mind, of which the imposing habitual calmness was rather the
result of pride than of stoicism.
The consequences became quickly apparent: he was soon observed
to have lost much of his wonted placidity of manner, and to be occa-
sionally absorbed, and often irritable. While thus affected, another
VOL. vi. t
130 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU
congress was resolved on by the European powers. The marquis
had strongly protested against any further congresses, and had come
to very altered views with respect to what had been done, and the
course, in justice, to be pursued. But lie had entangled himself, it
is affirmed, by pledges, and in such a position was once more appointed
to represent Great Britain in the game of diplomacy.
A mean spirit and an unprincipled breast could have found no diffi-
culty in the position, not uncommon with great men in the world of
politics. The lofty spirit of the marquis sunk under its intolerable
pressure. This began more plainly to appear in the arduous session
of 1822. It has been mentioned that the king, after having on one
occasion given him audience, wrote to lord Liverpool, expressing his
alarm for the marquis, whose incoherent talk suggested fears for his
intellect, and urging to have medical advice obtained. The mar-
chioness was at nearly the same time, on the same day perhaps, simi-
larly alarmed by the same appearances; and his lordship's physician
was sent for. The family were at the time about to proceed to North
Cray, their country residence. Shortly after, they set out. In one
or two days after that, by previous agreement with the marquis, Dr
Bankhead proceeded to the country, and found him labouring under a
heavy nervous attack. On the next day this continued, and indicated
derangement by one of its most usual indications, the morbid suspicion
of conspiracy. The following morning, his lordship was seen to rush
into his dressing-room, whither Dr Bankhead, on being apprized of
the circumstance, followed him. He just arrived in time to witness,
but late to interrupt, the last fatal deed. The marquis, standing with
his back to the doctor, was in the act of cutting his throat. He per-
ceived the doctor coming forward, and called out — •" Bankhead, let
me fall upon your arm; it is all over!" The carotid artery was cut,
as by the skill of an anatomist, with a narrow but deep wound,
which must have been guided by deliberate inquiry. " The most
expert surgeon, if endeavouring to extinguish human life with the
utmost promptitude, could not have effected the object more scien-
tifically."*
The marquis was exposed to many disadvantages. He was a man
of the noblest moral constitution of mind — high-spirited, honourable,
and independent. He possessed also considerable talents ; but they
were far inferior to the positions in which his ostensible and specious
advantages placed him. An exterior appearance of the noblest order,
both in person and countenance — a graceful address, and much that
was the result of real goodness — with official expertuess, and consider-
able powers as a debater — together with the advantages of rank,
combined to raise him to an eminence which, under ordinary circum-
stances, he might have maintained without failure.
But he had to contend with emergencies which demanded powers
of the highest order — if, indeed, any human powers could come with
honour out of the responsibility embraced by his lordship. There was
a rising change of public spirit, which was in some measure casting
c>n° the ancient conventions of the social state: it appeared, as such
* Annual Obituary.
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR R. R. GILLESPIE. K.C.B. 131
changes too often must, in the form of license, insubordination, and
the denial of all principles. The onward wave of human progress
is, indeed, little governed by human wisdom or goodness : it is too
often by the most vicious impulses that the fetters of worn-out pre-
judices are cast off; and hence, justified by fallacy, and degraded by
wicked aims, the justice or the expediency concealed in popular fer-
ments is little to be recognised. The insurgent impulse may be the
result of some real defect in the constitution of things ; but it infallibly
takes the form of anti-social designs, exactions, and crimes. Hence,
in troubled times, a, strong control becomes essential to preserve the
peace of society and the integrity of its main institutions; while yet
a progress is silently and unnoticed working its way, both in the posi-
tion of things, and the opinions of parties, which afterwards gives
force to retrospective enmity, when those who had to struggle with
the emergencies of one time are pursued by vindictive recollections in
another.
In reviewing the authorities (all surcharged with rancour) from
which we have drawn up the narrative portion of this memoir, we
have to say that they are, for the most part, perfect examples of that
want of candour which arises from strong political bias. This we do
not so much blame; but it is to be observed, that in many of the most
decided of these portraitures, the writer scarcely throws a decent mask
over the republicanism and the atheism which walk hand iu hand
through his paragraphs.
for ©en* Sir 3ft« 3SU ffiillwpte, K*<ff«3&
BORN A. D. 17GG.— DIED A. D. 1814.
ROBERT HOLLO GILLESPIE was born at his father's house, in tho
county of Down, in January 17G6. His family was of the first respec-
tability in that county. His father, having no children from two suc-
cessive marriages, when he again became a, widower, married Miss
Bailie of Innishangie, in the same county. From this marriage, the
sole fruit was the subject of this memoir.
Of his education it will be needless to speak. Born to affluence,
with a lively temperament, and indulgent parents, it can well be con-
ceived that he was early led into the path of pleasure and dissipation.
He was, nevertheless, endowed by nature with considerable talent,
activity of temper, and love of enterprise; and, amidst the frivolous
gaieties of fashionable life, "he soon began to feel the promptings of a
high and honour-seeking spirit. Of such a spirit, under the circum-
stances we have stated, the army presented the appropriate field of
exertion. His parents were, for a time, reluctant to see their only
hope thus drawn away from the safe road of peaceful life. He was
destined for the bar; but this intention gave way to his strong bent;
and in his 18th year he was gratified by the purchase of a cornetcy in
the third regiment of horse carbiniers.
A considerable time occurred before he was placed in the way of
distinction by actual service; and in the meantime we have only to
132 POLITICAL SERIES.
mention Ins marriage, in 178G, with the fourth daughter of Mr
Taylor, of Taylor's Grange, in the county of Dublin.
In 1791 he had the misfortune to lose his father. In the same
year, he obtained the step of lieutenant in the 20th regiment of light
dragoons. He had, with the feelings of a married man and a landed
proprietor, been for some time inclining to quit the military life: he
now determined to join his regiment in Jamaica.
On the voyage, he had a narrow escape from shipwreck; and, on the
first night of his arrival, was so unfortunate as to sleep in a bed
recently occupied by one who had died of the yellow fever. He
caught this horrible disease, and remained for two months in the
doubtful struggle between life and death.
It was the time when there was much alarm reasonably felt from
the progress of French emissaries in their efforts to revolutionise the
island of St Domingo — their ordinary prelude to the inroad of armed
usurpation. To avert from the British colony such a contagion, was
an object of the most anxious consideration. The colonists in St
Domingo had turned to the British for protection; and the commander
in Jamaica was induced to comply. Lieutenant Gillespie seized the
occasion to volunteer for the service. . The intention of the British
commander being known to the republican commissioners in St Do-
mingo, they had recourse to a proclamation, announcing freedom to
the slaves, to create confusion, and paralyze the resistance they had
reason to expect from the planters. The British expedition was
conducted with the usual bravery, and so far succeeded as to take
the town and harbour of St Jeremie, and of the Mole of Cape
St Nicholas. But, as difficulties probably accumulated to an amount
beyond the force of their armament, they failed in an attack on
Tiburon, and returned to obtain reinforcements. In the meantime,
Mr Gillespie was advanced to the command of a troop, and had
the good fortune to be thus enabled to take a distinguished part
in the second and successful attack on Tiburon. This important suc-
cess was followed by a determination on the part of the British com-
mander to send a flag of truce, demanding a surrender, previous to the
last decisive step of an attack on Port-au-Prince, the capital of the
French territory. The mission was considered dangerous, from the
lawless character of the republican commissioner. It was undertaken
by captain Gillespie, and captain Rowley of the navy. They swam to
shore with their swords between their teeth ; were fired at on the way ;
and, on landing, were taken prisoners. The brutal governor would
have ordered them to execution. Fortunately, in this critical moment,
captain G. perceived some " emblem of freemasonry about the person
of the commissioner, or one of his attendants;" and, being a freemason,
it occurred to him to try the effect of some one of the signs of the
order. The expedient succeeded, and had the immediate effect of
saving their lives and obtaining a respectful treatment. They were
honoured with a sumptuous entertainment, though the proposal of
their mission was refused. They suspected some treachery still, but
were safely dismissed.
In the attack, which immediately followed, Captain G. distinguished
himself as usual. We shall not describe the combat, as no special
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR R. R. G1LLESPIE, K.C.B. 133
incident of a strictly personal nature occurs. The attack was suc-
cessful. It is known that, owing to the fatal ravages of the yellow
fever, and the general unwholesomeness of the climate, the British
were discouraged from any adequate efforts to retain their conquest.
Captain Gillespie had received numerous wounds; and his strength
was also much affected by extreme fatigue and the effect of an un-
wholesome climate. He availed himself of a still interval to visit
England. He spent some months at home, made arrangements respect-
ing his property, and took a tour in Scotland with his wife.
Having once more joined the service with an expedition sent out
for the West India Islands under major-general Wilford, Captain
Gillespie had part in the various transactions which followed the ar-
rival of that officer. He soon rose to his majority (Dec. 1796), and
obtained distinguished- notice from general Simco in the succeeding
spring. .He quickly acquired a great command of local knowledge,
which, with his usual promptness, talent, and intrepid activity, made
his counsel of the greatest importance to the general. We cannot
afford to enter minutely on the events of these expeditions. The major
obtained from both general Simco and from general Whyte, who suc-
ceeded, the confidence and the approbation his never-failing valour
and military talent deserved: by the latter he was appointed deputy
adjutant-general. When, after a succession of events which we pass,
the evacuation of the island of St Domingo by the British was a step
of great hazard and difficulty, the experience of major G. was entirely
relied upon. But on this occasion he had the mortification to be de-
frauded of his praise ; for, as has in more than one instance happened,
his services on the occasion were, in the despatches, attributed to
another.
It was about the same time that ho was attacked at midnight in his
quarters by several assassins. He was roused from his sleep by a
dreadful cry. Starting up, he seized his sword, and ran down stairs.
His servant was severely Avounded. On the major's appearance, eight
ruffians rushed upon him. He defended himself with skill and pre-
sence of mind, and six of his assailants gave proof of his valour with
their bodies: the remaining two fled. He received several severe
wounds, and lay for some time in a doubtful state, but at last slowly
recovered. His fame was by this exploit spread far and near; but as
it was accompanied by reports of his death, his mother Avas so affected
by the shock, that she. fell ill and died.
On his recovery, he returned to Jamaica, where the sense of his
merits was so high, that he was recommended by the lieutenant-
governor to the House of Assembly, for appointment as second lieu-
tenant-colonel to the 20th light dragoons, as " having served with
distinguished credit in several high situations." The house consented
in terms no less honourable to the major. But the event was yet
more gratifying: the memorial consequent on these proceedings had
not reached England, when the same appointment was made by the
unsolicited favour of the authorities — a strong testimony to the high
reputation of the major. In November 1799, he became lieutenant-
colonel.
We pass several minor testimonies, not less creditable. We shall
POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn
pnly mention that, by a vote of the Jamaica legislature, he received a
sword worth one hundred guineas ; and that, by a declaration of
major-general Churchill as to his merits, we are incidentally apprized,
that, among the services he performed, he had successfully led the
storming of two forts.
The lieutenant-colonel landed with his regiment at Portsmouth in
1802. He had been, for some time previous, the object of private
and most inveterate and malignant persecution at the hands of a bro-
ther officer, to whom his high reputation was, perhaps, the object of
invidious feeling. But, however this may be, it is well understood
that there is mostly in every large community, in which there is room
for it, some stirring and vivacious individual, ambitious for authority,
without the talent to obtain it in the lawful way, and therefore mor-
tified by the success of others, and desirous to supplant them by the
only means at its command — low and slanderous intrigue. Such was
the rival for honour that now hovered in prying obscurity about every
movement of the colonel, misunderstanding and misstating all he did.
These infamous and miserable attempts of petty rancour were as im-
potent as they were mean. The whole of his conduct had been too
much in the light of day, and too high above the level of calumny.
His traducer was discountenanced at head-quarters, and contemptu-
ously repelled by those who best understood the state of facts. There
was ignorance as well as malice in the complaints he made. But they
made their impression with unhappy force upon the high and sensitive
military pride of the colonel himself; and for a long time he was
haunted and harrassed by dark imputations, circulated as industriously
as the tongue and pen of a malignant and unscrupulous enemy could
send them. Of course there was a resource — a court-martial is the
best refuge for the honour of a soldier. But the commanders before
whom the complaints had been made, by' letters and applications, un-
derstood their whole groundlessness, and did not think that they
demanded so much notice.
On the return of the troops, such charges acquired something of a
different kind of importance. They could be circulated in a wider
circle with less contradiction, and that contradiction less authoritative ;
and the colonel felt that his character could be whispered away by an
activity of malice which never relaxed, and found kindred echoes as it
went. He exerted himself to obtain an investigation. At last the
commander-in-chief most fortunately saw the matter in the same light,
and resolved to put an end to the affair. His enemy received orders
to bring forward his charges. He did so; and, to the satisfaction of
lieutenant-colonel Gillespie, his whole regimental proceedings received
a minute, elaborate, and searching inquiry, which left no recess unex-
plored, or no dark spot for insinuation to rest on. He was acquitted
in the very strongest terms that respect and approbation could find,
and the only result was a clearer and more public attestation of su-
perior merit than could otherwise be attained.
In 1805, he exchanged his regiment for one in actual service — the
19th light dragoons, then in India; and determined to travel thither
overland. His journey was diversified with adventures as interesting
to the reader, and as dangerous or disagreeable to the adventurous
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR, R. R. GILLISSPIE, K. C. B. 135
traveller, as any we can recollect. To retain their interest, they
should be told at length : we must, however, simply mention them. At
Hamburgh, he only escaped being seized by the French, by a warn-
ing from a stranger whom he met at the theatre, and who turned out
to be no less a person than Napper Tandy. Plaving fallen in with
the Austro- Russian army, he drew up to let the soldiers pass; when
" an illustrious personage," attracted by the sight of two valuable
fowling-pieces which he carried with him, stopped, and, having ex-
amined them, deliberately handed one of them to an orderly, without
the least regard to the colonel's remonstrances.
In his passage across the Euxine, he became aware that the pilot
had changed the stipulated course of the vessel — evidently with some
treacherous design. By a prompt effort of resolution, he compelled
the fellow again to resume the proper course, and thus escaped being
delivered up to pirates.
Having reached Constantinople, and remained there for a short time,
he proceeded by way of Greece for Aleppo. He had with him a servant
who understood the language of the wandering Arabs. Falling in
with a large party; while they were at supper, this man ascertained
that there was a plot to murder his master for his arms, to which
the chief had taken a fancy. This person was, however, taken sud-
denly ill; and the colonel, who was provided with some powerful medi-
cines, administered a dose, which, after leaving the matter perilously
doubtful for a little, produced the wished-for effect. Gratitude fol-
lowed, and protection took the place of hostility. Having made some
stay at Bagdad, where he was honourably distinguished by Ali Pacha,
he proceeded for Bussorah, and embarked for Bombay.
He was soon after appointed to the command of Arcot. He was
not long there before he learned that an old companion in arms was
at the time stationed at Bellore. On the 9th July, he had an invita-
tion to dine with this friend; but, by a most providential interposition
of circumstances, he was prevented from keeping the engagement — •
letters from the government having come, and compelled him to send
an apology. It was the very night appointed for the first step of an
insurrection, planned to commence with a massacre of the British in
Bellore. About two in the morning, at moon-rise, the European
barracks were surrounded, " and a destructive fire poured in at every
door and window, from musketry and a six-pounder, upon the poor
defenceless soldiers, who, being taken by surprise, fell in heaps."
The rebels and mutineers then hastened to the houses of the officers,
whom they shot; among others, colonel Fancourt, the friend of colonel
Gillespie. These horrors continued until seven in the morning, when
two officers and a surgeon made their way into the barracks, and
rallied the courage of the remaining soldiers to fight their way out.
At six in the morning, colonel Gillespie was about to ride over to
breakfast with his friend, when these frightful tidings came. With
his usual promptitude, he collected a troop of the 19th dragoons; and
ordering the g-uns to follow, he hastened to the fatal scene, riding all
the way far before his men. He was joyfully recognised from a
distance by a sergeant who had served with him in the West Indies.
His approach was saluted by a fierce fire from the walls, in defiance
136 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII
of which he made his way to a bastion in the possession of the
British soldiery. They let. down a chain of soldier's belts, by which
he ascended, and took the command. His first step was a charge with
the bayonet, during which the guns arrived. A sharp conflict followed,
in which the Sepoys, who were commanded by their own officers,
fought with desperation; and 100 of their number had fallen, when
the rest broke and fled in every direction that appeared open to them.
As everything indicated the privity of Tippoo and his sons to this
conspiracy, the soldiery earnestly pressed to be permitted to attack the
palace; and the colonel, filled with lively indignation, by the foul
murder of his friend, felt a strong impulse to consent: but a sense of
a higher responsibility suggested more discreet counsels, and he took
the family under his protection. As the success of the mutineers was
to have been the signal for a general rising of the native troops,
colonel Gillespie's decision and bravery was thus the means of warding
off calamities, of which the least amount would have been the fiercest
and most extended succession of similar scenes. In all probability, the
Carnatic was preserved. General Sir John Cradock spoke of the
event in his despatch as a "military wonder" — Bellore being a fortress
of great strength. The Indian government rewarded him with a vote
of thanks. He was appointed inspector of cavalry, a post in which he
added much to his reputation; though the Indian government after-
wards were led, by some private intrigue (for such things then had
existence in the Indian government), to supersede him. On the whole,
it belongs to the faithful historian to say, that an achievement not
more conspicuous for its heroism than important for the mischiefs it
prevented, was repaid by an insignificant approbation, and by insulting
neglect.
His regiment was ordered home in 1807; and he, still bent on
active service, exchanged into the 8th, or Royal Irish light dragoons.
He was immediately after appointed to command the cavalry in Ben-
gal, against the Seiks of Punjab. In this service, he effected, by great
exertion and address, a restoration of discipline long lost among the
troops intrusted to his command.
Some adventures of less moment, though not less illustrative of
the same remarkable heroism and ability, we are compelled to omit
entirely.
In 1 809, from a wish for more active service, he made another ex-
change into the 25th light dragoons. We have hitherto written colonel
to his name, simply to escape the addition of a long title. He was soon
after this time appointed to the command of Bungalore, with the brevet
rank of colonel. The post was one of exceeding weight and respon-
sibility, demanding, from the peculiar condition and existing state of
the army, far more than ordinary caution, nerve, and conciliatory
address. It was owing to the eminent ability for command of this
able officer, that nothing occurred which demands especial detail. The
best evidence of merit was his appointment to the command of the
whole Mysore division.
The island of Java, for more than a century in possession of the
Dutch, was, by the ascendency of the French in Europe, now placed
at their mercy, and occupied by a formidable force. It was too evi-
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR R. R. GILLESPIE, K, C. B. 137
dent to be neglected, that the settlement was thus a dangerous vicinity
for the British empire. An expedition was accordingly ordered, under
the command of Sir S. Auchmuty, and landed in Java in August, 1811.
In the preparations, the counsel of colonel Gillespie had been con-
sidered important enough to be the ground of much of the essential
arrangements. He was placed in command of the advance of the
troops. It of course fell to him to make the dispositions necessary
to cover the landing of the expedition. On the 8th, possession was
taken of Batavia. They were soon menaced by the rapid approach
of a column of the enemy; and colonel Gillespie headed the party
which sallied out, attacked, and compelled them to retire. Next
morning the advance was ordered towards Wclterweeden ; where, on
arriving at day- break, they found the enemy in possession of a very
strong position. Their flanks were protected by two rivers, and their
lines well covered by plantations, from which they were enabled to pour
a destructive fire of musketry and grape-shot upon the British. A
sharp action, which lasted two hours, carried all their points of strength,
and gave them a total route. They fled towards Cornelis, an en-
trenched camp, five miles round, and guarded by 180 pieces of cannon.
Preparations were now made to attack it. This formidable and
brilliant affair demands a more full recital than we have space to
afford.
In the position here to be attacked, everything combined to offer
difficulties so formidable as rarely occur in the records of such opera-
tions. Here the French had concentrated their forces, brought toge-
ther their means, and exerted in a very high degree the best resources
of military skill. Their lines, strong by nature, were rendered stronger
by art. Sir S. Auchmuty saw the necessity of the utmost circum-
spection, and resolved to begin by a thorough examination of the
defences, and the surrounding localities. In the meantime, the lines
of approach were commenced, and carried on with diligence ; so that
on the 20th, their works had reached to within six hundred yards of
the enemy's. On the morning of the 24th, the batteries were com-
plete; and a tremendous fire was opened upon the enemy, and re-
turned with spirit.
It was nevertheless apparent that the enemy must have the advan-
tage of a species of conflict for which their resources were far better
adapted, and that success could only be hoped for by storming. Of
an attack, the difficulties were such as might have suggested despair
to spirit and ardour less than British. Front, rear, and flanks, were
anxiously explored, and presented each an aspect impregnable, or nearly
so. The right, protected by the Slokan, was soon concluded to be the
most assailable; but, desirable as it was to obtain more precise in-
formation, the commander was reluctant to have it reconnoitred, lest
his design might be suspected. A deserter gave tne needful intelli-
gence on the 24th. On his information, the plan was settled for storm-
ing the lines on the 26th.
The principal attack was committed to colonel Gillespie, supported
by colonel Gibbs. The storming party set off a little after midnight,
as they had a long and difficult march before they could gain the
point of assault. The night was dark, and the way beset with obstu-
138 POLITICAL SERIES. * [FlFTH
cles, ravines, strong fences, impenetrable plantations, and difficult
defiles. They made but a slow progress; and it required all the
vigilant and active sagacity of the colonel to keep the right way.
Colonel Gibbs, less successful, was most unfortunately separated from
the advance with his corps, by the same obstacles. At one point, the
advance was thrown into perplexity by arriving at cross roads; but an
officer who had been a few days before that way, happily set them
right; and the guide soon began to recognise objects, which ascer-
tained that they were on the direct way.
At last, as they approached the lines at the destined point, colonel
Gillespie received an account, that colonel Gibbs, with the rear of
the party was not come up. It was an anxious moment: to push on, or
hesitate, were each laden with risks. He could not hope to remain long
undiscovered by the enemy; nor could he securely reckon on the im-
mediate approach of the rear. To avoid notice from the redoubt, he
retraced his steps a little but after a pause of vain expectation, he
justly considered that any longer delay would be to risk the failure
of the attack, and the whole chain of operations connected with it ;
and that although the force under his command might be insufficient,
yet he might expect that his firing would bring up the rear, who,
having daylight to guide their march, might come up with more
rapidity than he had been enabled to do.
Accordingly, casting away all indecision, he took his place at the
head of a small but resolute party of 500, and moved forward to the
attack.
"A deep cut across the road, close to the enemy's lines," writes an
eye-witness of the whole affair, " obliged us to advance slowly, in
order to afford time to the men to form, after they had passed over.
The dawn of the morning now showed us the videttes of the enemy,
who were posted outside, on the left of the road. They challenged
us twice, and were answered, ' Patrole.' We passed on. An officer's
picquet, stationed close to one of the principal redoubts, situated with-
out the river Slokan, challenged us next, when colonel Gillespie gave
the word 'Forward!' and so rapidly was the advance conducted, that
the enemy's picquet had not time to effect their retreat, but every
man was either killed or taken. A general blaze now suddenly arose,
blue lights and rockets being sent forth by the enemy to discover
our approach, while the artillery on the redoubts discharged their
grape and round-shot; which, however, passed chiefly over our heads.
The foe in the nearest redoubt had not time to reload ; fou our soldiers
actually assailed it at the point of the bayonet, and carried it with
euch celerity, that not a man escaped."*
Colonel Gillespie pressed on: in the heat of the attack, he kept in
view the essential plan of proceeding. The passage into the enemy's
lines was yet to he secured. It was strongly guarded by four guns,
and commanded by all the surrounding batteries. The struggle was
fierce, but decisive. The colonel and his men carried all before them.
Having secured the bridge over the Slokan, he rapidly entered, and
* History of the Conquest of Java. Extracted here from a memoir of General
Gillespie.
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR R. R. GILLESPIE, K. C. B. 139
attacked a redoubt within the body of the works. The enemy came
crowding like bees upon his handful of men; but they were men of
the same stuff as the conquerors of Vittoria, and Salamanca, and
Waterloo; and where no other troops could have escaped, they were
assailants still. In the face of a tremendous and destructive fire, out-
numbered on every side, they pressed forward with the bayonet, and
the enemy gave way. " Here," says our authority, " several officers
lost their valuable lives, in the very bosom of victory ; and many gallant
soldiers were killed and wounded."
Fortunately, colonel Gibbs, with his party, arrived at this time.
' A formidable redoubt to the right was next -to be won: he was di-
rected to carry it. While this order was in the course of execution
in the most gallant style, the magazine of the redoubt blew up, with
its mixed and dangerous contents. Great numbers, on both sides,
were killed by the explosion, which for a moment suspended the fight.
The captains of the grenadier companies of three regiments were
killed, and the ground was heaped with the mangled bodies of French
and British, frightfully mixed together. Colonel Gibbs and some
other officers were thrown to some distance, but without material hurt,
The French general Jauffret was at this period taken prisoner by
colonel Gillespie in person.
Continuing the same course of operations, colonel Gibbs now went
on to carry the redoubts to the right, and colonel Gillespie to the left
and towards the rear, under a heavy and well-kept-up fire, until all
the batteries were in their hands. At this point, it is stated, they
were joined by the 59th regiment, led by lieutenant-colonel M'Leod.
With this reinforcement, colonel Gillespie proceeded to attack the
enemy's park of artillery and reserve. They were both powerfully
and skilfully opposed; but in spite of every obstacle that a brave enemy
could offer, they went on, making good their way from point to point,
until their opponents, driven from a last desperate stand in front of
Fort Cornelis, broke, and fled in all directions.
Other attacks, of greater or less importance, were during1 the same
time made; but it will be enough here to state, that the commander,
by a well contrived feint in the front of the camp, drew out a heavy
fire from its batteries, and diverted for a time the attention of the
enemy from the real attack.
All resistance being at last overcome by the stormers, the army
advanced from every point to the pursuit. Colonel Gillespie received
a severe contusion in the last assault, which, with the severe fatigue
of such exertions as he had made, caused him to faint. He quickly
recovered, and mounted an artillery horse for the pursuit: he was met
by his own charger, and for ten miles followed the enemy. The enemy
made several attempts to rally : at one place they came together in con-
siderable force, and attempted a stand, with four pieces of horse-artil-
lery, behind some broken carts and thick hedges. The colonel placed
himself at the head of the cavalry, which, charging in sections, bore
down all resistance. He took a general in this charge, as he had
taken another in the camp. He also slew a colonel of the enemy.
By the account of Sir S. Achmuty, a thousand men were buried in
the enemy's works, and thousands more in the retreat. 5000 pri-
140 POLITICAL SERIES. [Firm
soners were taken, among which were three generals, thirty-four field-
officers, seventy captains, and one hundred and five subalterns. The
despatch concluded with a just tribute to the heart and arm of that
glorious victory. " I must not omit noticing to your lordship the very
particular merit of colonel Gillespie, to whose assistance in planning
the attack, and to whose gallantry, energy, and judgment in executing
it, the success is greatly to be attributed."
We have given more than usual space to these details, though still
far less than their interest and importance demand. The Peninsular
war at this time concentrated the attention of Europe upon its rapid
succession of splendid events and achievements; so that exploits which
otherwise might have rung on every shore, passed almost unnoticed
beyond the scene of action. We must however add that the exploits
we have here but faintly sketched have, so far as the justice of history
is concerned, been fortunate in the lively and spirited narration of an
eye-witness, from whose account we have taken our incidents.
This important conquest was committed to the civil government of
Mr Rafles, and the military command of the colonel. He was, how-
ever, immediately after these events, seized with a fever, from which,
for a time, no hope of his recovery was conceived. Contrary to the
fears of his friends, he at last struggled through, and was enabled to
resume his duties. These were arduous and trying. The resistance
of an open enemy was succeeded by the secret machinations of lurking
hostility. The native princes were suspected to be on the watch for
occasion to expel the Europeans altogether from their island. While
engaged in the precautions thus imposed, he was summoned to the
neighbouring island of Sumatra, where the native princes continued to
surprise and massacre the European residents at the Dutch factory.
As this island was a dependency of the government in Batavia, it was
felt necessary to interfere. An expedition was fitted out, and com-
mitted entirely to the charge of colonel Gillespie.
Never, perhaps, have the details of any similar achievement been
more full of romantic interest, or more decidedly illustrative of the
uniform judgment, decision, and leading ability, in all respects, of itr,
leader, as well as the bravery and steadiness of the force he conducted,
than the arduous and formidable succession of trials and difficulties
now overcome by the colonel and his followers. The force against
them was enormous, and, had it been European, scarcely, indeed, to be
faced with discretion. But there was, on the part of the Malays, no
want of the energy and decision to resist the unequalled precision,
dexterity, and promptitude, which took advantage of the least slack-
ness, unsteadiness, or inadvertency. We must, however, decline en-
tering on a statement which, without many pages of detail, would bo
to no purpose. We can only, therefore, mention that on this occa-
sion the colonel displayed, in a very eminent degree, those qualities
which would have been equal to a more formidable and important
expedition, and amply succeeded in the objects of his mission.
He returned to Batavia, to encounter new emergencies, still more
trying and formidable. The conspiracy, which had for some time
been ripening in the dark, began to present indications not to be any
longer overlooked; and to make the difficulty greater, the urgency
PERIOD.] MAJOR GEN. Sill 11. H. GILLESPIE, K.C.B. 141
of the dangers to be apprehended was such, that it was not thought
expedient even to await the arrival of a portion of the force which
had not yet returned from Sumatra. The means of the sultan (or
native king) were apparently overwhelming' in amount, whether for
places of strength, or the arms and munitions of war, or for numerical
force. The Dutch fort, which had been built to check the native
power, was worthless, unless as a store. The British troops were
comparatively a handful to a nation. After some formal negociations,
which the sultan only attributed to fear, matter* came to the decision
of arms; and the sultan was stormed in his stronghold, defended as it
was by a hundred guns, with all the impediments of walls, dykes, and
gates of the utmost strength. The assault displayed the usual skill,
spirit, and indomitable courage of the British soldier; and it was after
suffering from many well-aimed discharges of grape, and surmounting
many obstacles, that the gallant band succeeded in silencing the
enemy's guns, and ending a desperate resistance of three hours' dura-
tion. Colonel Gillespie, on this occasion, received a severe wound in
the arm. The result was the surrender of the sultan, and the entire
termination of the conspiracy. The political consequences of this
victory were very important : they were secured by the ablest
arrangements.
So many brilliant services happily did not escape the observation of
the government ; and the colonel was now promoted to the rank which
he was, in all respects, so qualified to adorn, being in the beginning
of the year appointed major-general. The commander-in-chief, in his
general orders, at very considerable length, and with a force of lan-
guage to which nothing could be added, detailed the services of this
distinguished officer. He dwelt on his personal intrepidity and pre-
sence of mind, his well-timed and prompt decision, and his wise and
prudent arrangements.
As this memoir is growing beyond the limits prescribed by our
essential economy of space, we must pass much that reflects high
honour on the general, and possesses much interest in itself. He was,
as is usual when there is a division of governing authorities in unsettled
states, much thwarted in his wise and comprehensive views of policy,
and had the mortification to witness the evils resulting from inatten-
tion to his counsels. It was perhaps under a sense that his powerful
conducting energies were wasted on petty arrangements, and small
vexations, that he gave up his command, and returned to India.
At that time, an expedition had been planned for the invasion of
Nepaul — a mountainous region, of which the inhabitants were re-
markable for their turbulent and predatory habits, as well as for their
courage and hardihood. They had become very troublesome on the
northern frontier, where they set up a claim to a fertile district, pro-
perly appertaining to the British dominion. An arbitration was, to no
purpose, resorted to ; and after a fair award against their pretensions,
these lawless mountaineers, despising the prudent temporizing of civil-
ized policy, asserted their claim by seizure. The impolicy of submit-
ting to such an insolent encroachment, in the face of the whole east,
needs no explanation. The territory was re-occupied, and the Nepaul-
ese expelled. The returned, and avenged themselves on the inhabi-
142 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTll
tants. War was in consequence now declared, and an expedition more
adequate to the occasion prepared.
An army of 30,000 men, under four commanders, marched to the
borders of Nepaul. This division was mainly suggested by the dif-
ficulties of sustaining so large a force on that distant march: it was
also rendered expedient by the shape of the frontier, and the local
structure of that country. It was important to repel the predatory
incursions of the inhabitants along an extended line of country,
and to intercept the several points of retreat or concentration conse-
quent on the numerous lines of height and valley. The marches
assigned to these divisions are not essential to our limited purpose.
While the extreme right was directed to march upon the enemy's
capital, the division immediately intrusted to major-general Gillespie
was directed to march towards the district of the Dhoon, to occupy the
vallfey of Desrah. The two right divisions entirely failed to enter the
difficult country on the points to which they marched. GeneraJ. Gil-
lespie made good his way to the Dhoon, where his operations were
properly to commence.
The object of his operations was to pass into the valley of the
Dhoon, arid move on to the fortified camp of the enemy at Nahan;
from which he could, according to previous arrangement, co-operate
with the western division of the army, under colonel Ochterlony.
There were two practicable passes into the Dhoon, the Timly and
Kerrie, through which his division must enter. It was his intention
to wait till all his forces were come up, and the 1st of November had
been fixed for his advance. But he obtained information which de-
cided him upon more prompt movements, to expedite his advance
towards the interior. He was deeply sensible of the arduous nature
of the service, and considered that the difficulties had in some respects
been underrated. His apprehensions were considerably increased by
the necessity under which he lay of numerous subdivisions of his force.
He, nevertheless, made the complicated arrangements necessary to
seize the guarded passes, and the ferries, arid post his detachments
at all the points of observation. The main obstacle to be overcome was
the fortress of Kalunga, which guarded the entrance to the Dhoon.
On the 24th, he marched by the Timly pass for the banks of the
Jumna; and, on the 25th, on descending into the Dhoon, for the pur-
pose of reconnoitering positions, he received intelligence that colonel
Mawby, whom he had sent in advance, in the hope that the valley and
fort might be surprised, had attacked Kalunga, and failed, for want of
correct information, and that " it was impracticable to take the place."
It was unfortunate that, according to the previously concerted plans,
he had a few days before detached a large force to co-operate
with colonel Ochterlony. He saw the whole emergency — a position
of very unexpected strength, with a force inferior to the occasion, and
the utmost urgency of time. The fort of Kalunga stood, by his own
description, " on the summit of an almost inaccessible mountain, and
covered with an impenetrable jungle — the only approaches commanded,
and stiffly stockaded." He, nevertheless, considering* the necessity of
the occasion, and perhaps remembering the success of more formidable
undertakings, determined to attack this fortress.
PKIUOD.] MAJOR GEN. SIR. R. R. GILLESP1E, K. C. B. 143
On the 29th of October, having reconrioitered the place, he made
his dispositions for the attack. These dispositions are to be found in
his field-orders, but are not within the compass of an extract. We can
only say, they are remarkable for their clear simplicity, arid the com-
prehensive concern they manifest for all possible exigencies. The
several regiments were ordered to posts convenient for the lines of ap-
proach designed for their respective attacks ; and a signal was appoint-
td,on which they were to move simultaneously to the point of attack.
During the night, artillery was carried to the height, and batteries
erected at the most advantageous points.
It was arranged that signal-guns were to be fired two hours previ-
ous to the attack, in order that the columns might have full time to
correct any errors in their distance, or lines of march through very
difficult approaches.
At seven, the signal-guns were fired; and of course, it was to be
reckoned upon as a matter approaching to certainty, that the several
divisions of the force would be up nearly at the time allowed for. A
little after nine, an attack made by the enemy, and repelled, seemed
to offer a very advantageous opportunity to pursue them into their
works; and very justly considering that the whole of his force must
be close at hand, he directed the assailing column to advance, sup-
ported by the reserve, and covered by the fire from the batteries.
This prompt conception had the expected success. The Royal
Irish Dragoons drove the enemy before them to the walls. A long
and desperate struggle ensued, in which the troops actually engaged
conducted themselves with the utmost steadiness, until they began to
feel that they were numerically insufficient to hold the position they
had by their valour and well-timed attack attained.
Most unfortunately, the signal had not been heard by two columns
of the force intended for the attack; and thus, in this critical mo-
ment, the major-general was deprived of half his force. Suspecting
some cause of failure, he despatched orders to urge them on ; but
though he took the precaution to send duplicate orders by different
routes, they never reached their destination.
Having stated these essential facts, it will be unnecessary to detail
the circumstances of two efforts to carry the place, directed with great
skill and energy; but which, from the entire inadequacy of the means,
failed of the desired effect. Nothing seemed left to be hoped for from
further attempts; and the brave commander felt that the emergency
was one for which there was no provision but the strenuous impulse
which brave men receive from the heroism of their leader. On this,
the major-general, of all men, may well be excused if he placed reli-
ance ; for no man had ever been more successful in combating far more
trying emergencies than he then had to encounter: he had, indeed, well
earned the title of " Enfant gate do victoire," so happily applied to
another, not braver or abler man. Confiding in his wonted success,
and feeling the whole importance of the moment — incapable of ad-
mitting the failure of British arms — he at once determined to lead his
men in person to the storm. He left the batteries, with the declara-
tion that he would take the fort, or lose his life in the attempt.
The depression of the soldiery was cheered when they saw their
144 POLITICAL SERIES. [FltlH
general place himself in front, with a calm and cheerful courage on
his face; while he addressed captain Kennedy with these words: —
" Now, Kennedy, for the honour of the county of Down."
The word was given, and the men rushed forward with spirit.
But while their heroic leader was cheering them onward with his hat
and sword, he received a ball in his heart, and fell lifeless.
There is no doubt left, by circumstances subsequently known, that,
but for this fatal event, there would have been nearly immediate suc-
cess. But this at once suspended and terminated the assault.
It may be fit to mention, that of five divisions of force which had
marched to the frontier, only two made their way good into the in-
terior, and came to a fair trial of strength with the natives in the
field.
On the commander's fall, the next senior officer ordered a retreat.
It only remains to say, that the army and the government, both in
India and England, were fully sensible of the loss they sustained in
this event; and that all the honours which nations can confer upon
their illustrious dead were dispensed with a free hand. The memory
of eminent men is, however, more dependent upon the results of their
achievements than upon the actual quantum of virtue or wisdom
which they required and employed. The cenotaph neither spreads or
perpetuates its report ; and thus a most brave and illustrious soldier,
who spent great abilities and heroic valour in remote and compara-
tively obscure warfare, retains no fame proportioned to his desert.
<$F There are some memoirs which might be added to the preceding ; but as they has
nearly an equal relation to the history of the next and last, we keep them back.
PERIOD.] PHILIP SKELTON. 145
JT. ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES.
JWaurfce* astejjop of
DIED 1756.
EDWARD MAURICE is so little known in the records of literature, that
his name escaped our notice in the termination of our last ecclesiasti-
cal period. Our present notice of him must be brief. In point of actual
claim to be commemorated as an eminent character, we might indeed
omit him, as no extraordinary activity or success in public life, or no
great published work, presents the ordinary claim which regulates
our selection. That he was the author of a MS. translation of
Homer, would be an insufficient reason, as we have not the least
doubt that translations of Homer, and of other great works of every
kind and class, enough to fill more libraries than ever have been
printed, have occupied the lives, and mouldered with the dust of
countless scholars. But the MS. of bishop Maurice is yet extant in
the library of the university of Dublin, of which he was a graduate,
and is known to possess merits of the very highest order. So far as
can be judged from extracts, those printed by bishop Mant, in his his-
tory of the Irish church, leave no doubt as to the superior qualifications
of the translator. While this admission demands its distinct record,
we cannot, it is plain, prolong a memoir on the strength of merits so
little public in their pretensions as unpublished manuscripts.
Bishop Maurice died in 1756.
Pbtltp $Mtou,
BORN A.D. 1707. — DIED A.D. 1787.
THIS very able writer in support of revealed religion was born in
1707, and received his education in the Dublin university. Some-
time after taking his degree, he obtained the curacy of Monaghan, in
which his conduct as a Christian clergyman was no less worthy of
distinction, than the talent and industry with which, in a very infidel
age, he maintained the truth of revealed religion. With a salary of
forty pounds a-year, he allowed ten for the support of his mother.
From this curacy he was removed by bishop Clayton to the living
of Templecarn, a wild and extensive parochial district on the borders
of Fermanagh and Donegal. Here he found a population entirely
ignorant of Christianity, and exerted himself with the most devoted
and exemplary diligence in their instruction. During this interval of
VOL. VI. K
146 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTIl
his life, he wrote a tract proposing "the revival of Christianity," which
attracted public notice, and was attributed to Swift. It was, perhaps,
while engaged in the arduous labour of a Christian teacher, in a scene
pervaded by the deep spiritual obscurity which then prevailed in every
class, that his mind was deeply impressed with a strong sense of the
scornful discountenance which religion met from the upper classes of
country gentlemen. The able and effective work which he wrote to
expose the infidelity of his time, seems to be strongly impregnated
with such a sentiment. His arguments are stated in the form of con-
troversial dialogues, with all the force, though without the refined skill
and eloquence, of Berkeley. The argument proceeds on the fiction that
a lawyer, a man of large property, and a deist, visits the neighbouring
parish church with his ward, a young gentleman whom he is desirous
to preserve from all taint of religious belief. Offended with the
preacher for bringing forward some arguments in favour of religion,
he invites him to a controversy ; the clergyman assents, and the argu-
ment is continued for several days in succession. Mr Skelton, in the
management of his argument, displays powers both of statement and
reasoning of a very high order, and a most extensive acquaintance
•with a subject of great variety and extent. He is greatly to be
praised for the fairness with which he states the arguments of the
deist, and as much for the conclusive force with which he replies.
The popular value of such a work is not, however, quite commensu-
rate with these great merits. While the proofs of revealed religion,
grounded on the ordinary principles of evidence, must always con-
tinue the same, every age has brought forth some form of unbelief
peculiar to itself: the successive refutation of each infidel theory has
still continued to drive the sceptic to exercise the powers of invention
in some new resource. In consequence of this, the controversy with
the deist must ever, so long as -it shall last, continue to shift its
ground to a large extent. At that time, it was the fashion to oppose
Christianity with an imaginary religion of nature, and by certain
unfounded notions of moral obligation, which no one but philosophers
knew, and which none followed. It had been for some time the main
art of deism, to endeavour to supersede the Gospel as much as possible,
without allowing it to come directly into discussion; and the artifice
by which this was to be effected was, to steal into its place a mode of
religion which was admirably adapted for the purpose. In a most
irreligious age, when all that was spiritual in Christianity was by
common consent so neglected, that its preachers were content to
deliver ethical discourses, which might have suited the ancient schools
of Greece, — and the nominal Christian little thought of the Gospel,
save as an ethic rule, — it was very easy to exhibit the same rule as the
mere result of human reason ; and thus, though nominally differing,
the deist and the Christian would be practically the same. The
results of such an artifice need not be detailed. It is easy to see what
numbers would be happy to step across a line so narrow, in order to
divest the rules of moral obligation of the penal sanction and the
chain of conscience. From this consideration it will be understood,
that the Christian advocates of such a time must have been largely
PERIOD.] REV. DR LELAND, F.T.C.D. 147
involved in the discussion of the most entangled speculations, in which
it would not be desirable for any one but a professional theologian to
engage.
In Mr Skelton's lifetime, such a work was of the utmost importance ;
though it must be added that, from the very nature and causes of
deism, there are no writings so little likely to produce any commensu-
rate effect as those in which it is opposed. The deist is often a most
amiable man, and in all other respects most reasonable; but his
opinions are so strongly founded in inclination, and so slightly in
reason, that he is unwilling to look upon them closely; and without
being more vindictive than others, to resent the exposure of his falla-
cious unbelief. Mr Skelton was impressed with a sense of the im-
portance of a work which fills two laborious volumes, and went to
London to look for a publisher. By his own account, the person to
whom it was committed for an opinion was Mr Hume, who advised
the publisher to print it. This work is, we believe, now scarce: it is
entitled, " Ophincus, or Deism Revealed."
He was no less distinguished by his strenuous and well-directed
labours as a Christian pastor; labours then more distinguishing, as
more rare. In our times, it would be as rare to find a parish clergy-
man in Ireland remiss. Nor can it now be necessary to detail the
laborious avocations which are familiar in every parish — except those
few in which unhappily they have no scope.
Mr Skelton's work or name are little known beyond the limit of
the theological obituary. In the record of the eminent and illustri-
ous of this world, he can occupy but little space, however high he
may stand upon a loftier and more permanent record. Had he been
promoted to the higher stations of the church, he had ability and
active energy and zeal to obtain a historical reputation ; but he led a
long life in comparative obscurity and poverty, fulfilling in times of
great difficulty the duties of a faithful soldier of Christ, and earning
for himself a better crown and a less corruptible treasure.
He died in 1784.
&* ®. &• 33*
BOllN A.D. 1722. — DIED A.D. 1?85.
THOMAS LELAND was born in the city of Dublin, in the year 1722.
He was placed at the school of the celebrated Dr Sheridan. In his
fifteenth year he entered the university of Dublin as a pensioner, and
obtained a scholarship in 1741. In 1745, he first sat for the fellow-
ship, without success; but the next year, was unanimously elected. He
entered into holy orders in 1748; and it is mentioned by one of his
biographers, that his deep sense of his spiritual obligations was mani-
fested in an essay then much admired, though not now extant, on
"The Helps and Impediments to the Acquisition of Knowledge in Reli-
gious and Moral Subjects." A few years after, he is said to have been
commissioned by the university to publish an edition of Demosthenes.
It was in 1756 that he published the first volume of his well-known
148 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Fimi
translation of Demosthenes, winch was completed in three volumes,
between that time and 1770. This, with the critical and historical
capability displayed in his notes, raised and extended his reputation
among the learned men and universities of England. Not long after the
publication of the firsUvolume of his translation, he published (in 1758)
his history of Philip, king of Macedon; and having in 1763 been ap-
pointed professor of oratory by the board, he obtained no less distinc-
tion by a dissertation upon eloquence ; which having been attacked
by Warburton and Hurd, he replied in two successive publications,
and obtained, according to the opinions of the ablest critics and
scholars of his time, a decided victory over both. We shall not here
enter upon this curious controversy, as it could lead to no useful
end. The position of Warburton was, like many of his opinions,
absurd, and ably maintained. He was a man of very high inventive
subtilty and admirable skill in reasoning; but far from a proportion-
able soundness of judgment. He had a love of paradox; and in
search of it, was apt to overshoot his aim and stumble into fallacy.
Leland's next undertaking was a history of Ireland, written in the
standard style of the best ancient or modern histories, and yielding
to none in the highest merits of the historian — a lucid and masterly
arrangement — a judicious selection of matter — a clear and simple, yet
critically elegant style — and a thorough freedom from the influences
of party, from which it is so hard to escape anywhere, but nearly im-
possible in Ireland. Such qualities place him in the first rank of
historians, so far as the intrinsic merits of his work is weighed.
There are, it is true, deductions enough to be made — some real, and
some not more than specious. The historian of Ireland is little likely
to be placed in the same scale with the historian of Europe or of Eng-
land, whatever may have been the success or the real difficulties of his
undertaking, But in a country of which the political temper has been
so triply steeped in party rancour — in which the powers of vitupera-
tion are exhausted to find language for the eloquence of party — in
which no small wit and ingenuity have been spent to the dregs in
misrepresentation ; — in such a country no impartial historian could be
candidly accepted. When writing- his history, the well-known abili-
ties of Leland induced many to look to his work, as such works are
ever looked to, as an instrument of faction ; and he was much urged,
by several men on both sides, to adopt those opinions and tones of
statement most favourable to their own views. Such advice, however
urged, he steadily rejected; and the consequence is, that his work docs
not meet the wants of any section of the public. But it may be
safely recommended to the sober and sound-minded student of history
as the " History of Ireland," which, so far as it reaches, makes any
other quite unnecessary. We should not here say so much, even
though deeply indebted to Dr Leland, were it not for the excessive
flippancy with which his great work is commonly noticed by the col-
lectors of biographical notices.
One charge, made in no unfair or illiberal spirit, is to be noticed.
The comparatively scanty notice which he has taken of the more
ancient history of Ireland, has been charged on Dr Leland as a fault.
We cannot concur in such a charge. It originates in a confusion of
PERIOD.] REV. DR LELAND, F. T. C. D. 14i)
t\vo great branches of knowledge, nearly related, but intrinsically
distinct — distinct in their elements, and in the results to which they
lead. The historian who undertakes the civil history of a nation, to
perform his task aright, must pursue the remotest traces of all its
institutions, and gather from the earliest antiquity the faintest light,
which illustrates the origin and growth of its actual constitution. But
there are many and important reasons why he must properly observe this
limit. It is not merely that the objects of antiquarian research are,
to a very considerable extent, unconnected with the main design and
leading topics of the historian; but in fact it has also an importance
of its own, and is too extensive and difficult to be needlessly combined
with other topics of research and reasoning. The one belongs to
the science of politics, in the broadest extent in which the term can
be understood — combining the statesman's mind with that of the
philosopher: the other falls within the province of arts, languages,
the natural history of the human race; and embraces a wide range
of consideration, too wide, remote, and vague, to have any very im-
portant application to civil and political history. Both demand powers
of no inferior order, though much differing in kind: and for each,
the labour of a life would be necessary. The person in whom both
.should be reconciled, or the history in which each could be fully
entertained, would be the history and the historian of the human race.
If, indeed, it were usual to pursue the civil history of modern coun-
tries back into the obscurity of traditionary times, we should not say
a word in excuse of the omission. But such has not been the usage
of the standard writers: their notice of the primitive history of the
nation, has not in general been more than a formal preliminary. Nor
is this fact to be explained by the Avant of traditions or national
monuments; for every great empire has its recollections and anti-
quities. If any one desires an illustration, he may compare the lucu-
brations of Niebuhr, with the histories of Tacitus and Livy.
The investigation of Irish antiquities would have employed the life
of Dr Leland three times over, and more than doubled his work.
Scriptus et in tergo, necdum finitus. The success of the eminent
antiquarians of Ireland, has not been so brilliant, many and able as
they have been, that our civil history should await the termination of
their labours. We would not be thought to think lightly of the
antiquities of any ancient nation — every unquestionable discovery of
the true interpretation of such remains and traditions, offers a fact of
importance in the history of man. It is, at the same time, impossible
to refrain from the observation, that if such labours were to be esti-
mated by the amount of their actual results, or even by the soundness
and discretion with which these results have been pursued, their claim
to our respect is slight enough.
To these remarks on the writings of Leland, we may refer to the
well-known praise of Dr Johnson,* and quote the following less
known extract, supposed to be written by Dr Parr: — " Of Leland, my
opinion is not founded upon hearsay evidence; nor is it determined
solely by the great authority of Dr Johnson, who always mentioned
* Sec Boswcll's Life of Johnson.
150 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Finn
Leland with cordial regard and marked respect. It might, perhaps,
be invidious for me to hazard a favourable decision upon the history
of Ireland, because the merits of that work have been disputed by
critics. But I may with confidence appeal to writings, which have
long contributed to public amusement, and have often been honoured
by public approbation; to the life of Philip, and to the translation of
Demosthenes; to the judicious dissertation upon eloquence, and to
the spirited defence of that dissertation."*
These works had been before the public, and the reputation of Dr
Leland, both as a writer and as a very highly admired preacher in
Dublin, had been fully established, when lord Townsend came over
as lord-lieutenant. As he was fully informed as to the merits and
public character of Leland, there was, as usual, a very considerable,
though not very well-founded expectation, of his immediate preferment.
This was, of course, owing to the public ignorance of the political
principle then, and even now (though to a modified extent), adopted
in the disposal of preferment. The support of the existing govern-
ment, by the disposal of its patronage; to a certain extent essential to
the existence of a government; is carried to an extreme, when made
the ground of ecclesiastical promotion. It necessarily led to the
evil of promoting Englishmen to the government of the Irish church —
a great injustice, for which there was no excusable motive. Not that
the actual selections were in themselves objectionable; but that the
not inferior talent, wisdom, learning, and piety of Ireland, was passed
over with most iniquitous neglect. The expectations of Leland's
admirers — expectations in which he was probably too wise to share
—were disappointed. He could not, without discredit, be wholly
neglected, and obtained some small preferments which could be held
with his fellowship. The prebend of Rathmichal, with the vicarage
of Bray, were conferred upon him in 1768.f
Dr Leland died in 1785.
* Walter
BORN A.D. 1754 — DIED A.D. 1805.
DEAN KIRWAN was descended from a highly respectable family in the
county of Gal way. He was born in the year 1754.
He was brought up for the priesthood, in the communion of the
church of Rome; and in consequence, according to the custom of the
time, received his education at a foreign university, the college of the
English Jesuits at St Omer.
At the age of 17, he was induced, by the invitation of a near kins-
man, to go out to the Danish island of St Croix in the West Indies,
where his relation had considerable property. The strong sensibility
of young Kirwan rendered the scenes of cruelty and tyranny which he
witnessed there insupportably disgusting; and he soon made up his
* Quoted in Mant's History of the Irish Church,
f Mant.
PERIOD.] KEV. WALTER BLAKE KIRWAN. 151
mind to return to his first destination. Having returned to Europe,
he repaired to the university of Louvaine. There he soon rose to so
much distinction, that he was raised to the professorship of natural
and moral philosophy — a nearly incredible confusion of sciences.
Previous to this, he had obtained priest's orders.
In the year 1778, he obtained the appointment of chaplain to the
Neapolitan embassy in London. Having left the embassy, he came
over to see his Irish relations ; here, circumstances soon occurred to alter
his views in religion, and he conformed to the church of England.
We think it necessary to mention, that we are in full possession of
the very silly and malignant fabrication which a very low writer has
contrived to rake together to account for this change. It is too long
to be gratuitously refuted, and we therefore pass it by. The change
is surely not one which demands far-fetched and inapplicable reasons to
explain it. Mr Kirwan's professed reason was probably near the truth
— he thought he could do more good as a protestant preacher; and if
the secret impulse of ambition mingled with, and gave added fuel to
the fire of great native benevolence, it will not be set down as unwor-
thy a man still young, and conscious of some high and effective powers.
But, considering the moral and intellectual characters of the dean, as
they are to be gathered from all that is known of the subsequent life
of a very public man, we must confidently say, that it is quite impro-
bable that he could for a day have entertained the notion of such a
change* unless the reasons by Avhich it might be warranted and justi-
fied, had first occupied his attention. It would be easy, if necessary,
to show that such reasons are likely to be contemplated by every mini
of sound intellect in the church of Rome; and it is as plain that,
until the very moment of decision, any possibility of change must bo
concealed. However unexpected by his friends, it is not to he pre-
sumed that the conversion of this eminent man was either sudden, or
without the maturest deliberation.
He was first introduced to the pulpit of the church of England, by
the rector of St Peter's church, in Anngier street in Dublin, June,
1 787. Great numbers were attracted by curiosity. It was whispered
by some, that he would display a vindictive enmity towards the church
he had left; by others it was expected that he would endeavour to
recommend himself by denouncing it. All such anticipations must
have been disappointed: he made no allusion to the subject.
It is needless to trace the steps of the rapid progress which he made
in public opinion. The effects produced, both from the matter and
manner of his discourses, must have been very unusually great. It
was a time when oratory was the prevailing taste. Always powerful
in its effects on popular assemblies, it had in Ireland acquired a more
peculiar power over public feeling, by its long-established use as the
instrument of political agitation: a taste had thus been diffused, which
had been improved and fostered by the influence of such men as Flood,
Grattan, Curran, and other eminent orators, on the public taste; as
well as generally by the native rhetorical temper of the Irish nation.
Mr Kirwan was not inferior to the highest standard of the Irish taste;
if second to any, it was to Mr Grattan alone. He did not possess the
copious fertility of point, metaphor, or the ornamental play of fancy
152 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTII
which gave a force and novelty to the sentences of that eloquent
man. But he possessed an ample store of the most powerful and ef-
fective turns of thought, highly-wrought pictures, and forcible
appeals, both to the feeling and imagination, drawn from his extensive
ethical reading; and above all, from the discourses of the fervid
school of Massillon, and the orators of the French pulpit. All their
deep and splendid conceptions he reproduced in English, with a power
of manner, eye, countenance, action, and tone, which could, we are led
to believe, only have been paralleled by men like Garrick, Kemble,
or Kean.
In one respect, he had a great and signal advantage. It was a time
when the pulpit was at the very lowest ebb, both of dulness and inef-
ficacy. The infidel character of the age was more than countenanced
by a style of preaching which had in it nothing to remind the hearer
of Christianity, but a dull and frigid echo of its moral system. The
preacher endeavoured to enforce the moral virtues on grounds exclu-
sively prudential ; and if any allusion to Christian doctrine was intro-
duced, it was too evidently formal, to be understood as a thing really
intended. The religion of society was that which the world is always
endeavouring, by a nearly unconscious tendency, to work out for
itself — a purely secular system of ethics, which was called Chris-
tian, to satisfy the forms of a church, and content the conscience
of a multitude. But the commonplaces of the ethical schools were
quite inadequate for any purpose of eloquence: the maxims of pru-
dence were too low — the abstract rules of right too cold and heart-
less for the popular appeal. Mr Kir wan, whether from a sense of
duty, or the dictates of a sound judgment, saw the necessity of a
truer and more effectual groundwork. He sought and found it in
the main truths of revealed religion.
It is not, however, to be supposed that he went to the full extent
of the doctrinal teaching of the whole practical system of the gospel,
to which the humblest teacher of the Christian church has since ar-
rived. This we do not mention in any spirit of censure. It was some-
thing to have made a single step in advance. It was something in
that unbelieving time to point, however remotely, to the Cross, and to
arraign the intense secularity of the church-going multitude. If he
did not advance the full efficacy and the true foundation of the gospel,
he still went so far as to bring prominently forward those great practical
£jqts and results which cannot be seriously entertained without a de-
sire to look further for a refuge than human merits. The brevity of
life, the transitory nature and the uncertainty of its objects, the illu-
sions of which it is constituted, the .nearness and certainty of death,
and the terrors of the day of judgment; — these solemn and awful
truths afforded the powerful and effective ground of his weighty and
heart- moving appeals.
It must be observed, that it is only from twelve of his charity ser-
mons that we can form any opinion as to the matter of his discourses.
It would therefore be unfair to conclude as to the amount of his doc-
trines. The subject also was one which must be admitted to have
imposed a certain line of topics. We must not, consequently, be
understood to pronounce upon what he omitted; but, so far as our
PERIOD.] REV. WALTER BLAKE KIRWAN. 153
means go, to point out and value what he did. He referred to the
specific design and main result of the announcements of our Lord, as
the ground and motive of charity, instead of confining himself to the
poetical and philosophical, or political appeals to humanity and pru-
dence, which had till then been the resources of the pulpit. If he did
not instruct his flock where to find redemption, he endeavoured to make
them look for it. Perhaps to the impulse which he then imparted, we
may (under Providence) refer the great spiritual advances which im-
mediately began to follow, when men like Mathias and Roe, with far
humbler powers, drew from a purer fountain, and diffused wider and
more permanent effects.
One thing is, however, certain. Kirwan " disturbed the repose of
the pulpit." He introduced a new and true principle into the religion
of his day. We have been thus particular, because it is usual to
estimate his preaching by the requisitions of an age far different in its
spiritual state.
It is also to be admitted that Mr Kirwan derived success from a
method of delivery which we apprehend would scarcely be tolerated
in our times, unless in its more appropriate practice on the stage. Sir
Jonah Barrington has left a few descriptive sentences, which perhaps
give the nearest idea of the orator: — " His manner of preaching was
of the French school ; he was vehement for a while, and then becom-
ing, or affecting to become, exhausted, he held his handkerchief to his
face; a dead silence ensued; he had skill to perceive the precise mo-
ment to recommence; another blaze of declamation burst upon the
congregation, and another fit of exhaustion was succeeded by another
pause. The men began to wonder at his eloquence; the women grew
nervous at his denunciations. His tact rivalled his talents, and at the
conclusion of one of his finest sentences, a ' celestial exhaustion,' as I
heard a lady call it, not unfrequently terminated his discourse, — in
general, abruptly."
The portrait of dean Kirwan, which was published as the frontis-
piece to his printed sermons, gives some added strength to the con-
ception thus imbodied in words. There is a considerable expression
of much pathetic power upon his face, which, though what may be
called plain, and what in common scenes might be thought forbidding,
combined an austere solemnity with a heartfelt sentiment of commise-
ration and distress, suited with wonderful aptness to the main topic
of his appeals. There is a strong, yet tempered, surprise and indigna-
tion, even in the portrait, that seems to bring as a reproach the wants
arid sufferings of the poor against the levities, the luxuries, and infi-
delity of a riotous and ungodly age.
The result was proportional to the means. The collections which
followed his discourses were profuse, beyond anything before or since
known; frequently amounting to twelve hundred pounds at a sermon.
Those who came to give their half-crowns left their rings and watches
in pledge for their full value. The reputation of the preacher rose
in proportion to such success. He was addressed by parishes and
corporate bodies, and painted by eminent artists.
The archbishop of Dublin recognised his merits by the prebend of
Howth, and the parish of St Nicholas Without, amounting, together,
1->1 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Finn
to £400 a-year. Lord Cornwallis afterward, in 1800, preferred him
to the deanery of Killala.
lie died in 1805, at his house in Mount-Pleasant avenue, near
Dublin, leaving a widow and four children. As he had not been en-
abled to make any provision for them, king- George III., with his
wonted humanity and good taste, provided for them by a liberal pen-
sion of £300 a-year to Mrs Kirwan, with a reversion to her two
daughters.
'ta, JSisfiop
BORN A. D. 1728. DIED A. D. 1811.
FOB this eminent scholar and excellent man we are indebted to
England. The long-established usage of transferring learned men to
our sees from the English universities, while it has tended much to
depress our church, and suppress many a bright light, has occasion-
ally made amends in men like Bedell and Taylor, Percy and Brinkley
— men whose names are splendid ornaments to learning, as their lives
and actions were examples deserving of record for all that could grace
their stations.
Of some of these illustrious persons, we are far from adequately sup-
plied with any account proportioned to their merits, or the place they
tilled. For those who lived in former periods, history itself has
afforded the materials, as there were few persons of any eminence who
did not, as actors or sufferers, enter largely into the current of events.
We are now compelled to trust to the gleanings of literary notices
and to incidental recollections.
Thomas Percy was descended from the ancient Percys of Northum-
berland. Boswell asserts him to have been the heir of that family.
This would, we suspect, have been hard to prove ; nor was the occasion
wanting, or unlikely to be suggested, as the heirs of that race appear
to have been extinguished with the eleventh earl, and the honours to
have passed with his daughter into another ancient Norman family.
He was born in Bridgenorth, in Shropshire, in 1728. The first
rudiments of learning he received from the Rev. Samuel Lea, head
master of Newport school, in that Shire. From this he entered Christ
church, Oxford.
Having completed his academical terms, he was preferred by his
college to the vicarage of Easton Manduit, in Northamptonshire, in
1756. In 1765, he accepted the office of chaplain to the duke of
Northumberland. In 1769> he received the appointment of chaplain
to the king. On this latter occasion, he took his degree of D. D. at
Cambridge, for which purpose he was admitted a member of Emanuel
college.
During the interval, of which the main incidents are thus summarily
stated, the character of Dr Percy for elegant literature and extensive
scholarship had been uniformly rising into public eminence. In 1761
he had published " Han Kiori Chonan, a Translation from the Chinese
Miscellanies." In the year after, some Runic poems, translated freely
PEIUOD.] THOMAS PERCY, BISHOP OF DROMORE.. 155
from the Icelandic. Aversion of the Song of Solomon appeared from
his pen in 1764, translated from the Hebrew, with a commentary. In
1768, his celebrated work, by which 'his rank is fixed in literary history,
made its appearance.
At the same time, his reputation in the distinguished literary circle
of London was extended and established. He was an original member
of the celebrated Literai-y Club, and his name occurs in its annals with
those of Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, and Reynolds. With Johnson he
had long been on terms of the most kindly intimacy; and in the well-
known memoir of Boswell, his name frequently is met, ; and his authority
is often cited by subsequent editors, as conveying the most accurate and
and authentic notices of that great and worthy man. Dr Johnson's
opinion of him is handed down in a letter, on which Dr Percy himself
has said, " I would rather have this than degrees from all the univer-
sities in Europe. It will be for me and my children, and grand-
children." Such a testimony is not to be omitted.
It was in 1778, the same year that Dr Percy obtained the deanery
of Carlisle, that he happened to give a dinner to a small party, con-
sisting of Boswell, Dr Johnson, and Mrs Williams. In the course of
conversation, Pennant was warmly praised by Johnson. Dr Percy,
who recollected resentfully that Pennant, in his mention of Alnwick
castle, had used language which he considered not sufficiently respect-
ful, eagerly opposed. Johnson retorted; and a colloquy ensued, which
was mixed with much sarcasm on the part of Johnson, who at last was
violently excited by a very harmless personality. Percy had said that
Pennant was a bad describer. Johnson replied, " ' I think he describes
very well.' PERCY. — * I travelled after him.' JOHNSON. — ' And /
travelled after him.' PERCY. — ' But, my good friend, you are short-
sighted, and do not see as well as I do.' Johnson said nothing at
the time; but inflammable particles were collecting for a cloud to burst.
In a little while, Dr Percy said something more in disparagement of
Pennant. JOHNSON (pointedly) — * This is the resentment of a nar-
row mind, because he did not find everything in Northumberland.'
PERCY (feeling the stroke). — * Sir, you may be as rude as you
please.' JOHNSON. — ' Hold, Sir! Don't talk of rudeness. Remem-
ber, Sir, you told me' (puffing hard with passion, struggling for a vent)
' I was short-sighted. We have done with civility. We are to be as
rude as we please.' PERCY. — r' Upon my honour, Sir, I did not
mean to be uncivil.' JOHNSON. — '/ cannot say so, Sir; for I did
mean to be uncivil, thinking you had been uncivil.' Dr Percy rose,
ran up to him, and, taking him by the hand, assured him, affection-
ately, that his meaning had been misunderstood ; upon which, a recon-
ciliation took place."* We need not stay to point out the amiable and
Christian temper shown on this occasion by Dr Percy: it would be
still more apparent, could we have ventured to extract the irritating
dialogue from the beginning. But it is here quoted only to retain
as much as possible the interest of the following letter to Boswell: — .
" Sir, the debate between Dr Percy and me is one of those foolish
controversies which begin upon a question of which neither cares how
* Boswcll's Johnson, vol. vii., Ed. 1835«
156 . ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
it is decided, and which is, nevertheless, continued to acrimony, by
the vanity with which every man resists confutation. Dr Percy's
warmth proceeded from a cause which, perhaps, does him more
honour than he could have derived from juster criticism. His
abhorrence of Pennant proceeded from his opinion that Pennant had
wantonly and indecently censured his patron. His anger made him
resolve that, for having been once wrong, he never should be right.
Pennant has much in his notions that I do not like; but still I think
him a very intelligent traveller. If Percy is really offended, I am
sorry; for he is a man whom I never knew to offend any one. He is
a man very willing to learn, and very able to teach — a man out of
whose company I never go without having learned something. It is
true that he vexes me sometimes; but I am afraid it is by making me
feel my own ignorance. So much extension of mind, and so much
minute accuracy of inquiry, if you survey your whole circle of ac-
quaintance, you will find so scarce, if you find it at all, that you will
value Percy by comparison. Lord Hailes is somewhat like him; but
lord Hailes does not, perhaps, go beyond him in research ; and I do
not know that he equals him in elegance. Percy's attention to poe-
try has given grace and splendour to his studies of antiquity. A
mere antiquarian is a rugged being.
" Upon the whole, you see that what I might say in sport or petu-
lance to him, is very consistent with full conviction of his merit. I
am, dear Sir, your most, &c. „ ^ JoHKSOH „
Among the many notices of Dr Percy which occur in the corres
pondence of Johnson, we learn that, for some time after his promotion
to the deanery of Carlisle, he continued to occupy an apartment in
Northumberland house. Here, sometime in March, 1780, a fire
broke out, by which he sustained some small losses; but his papers
and books were preserved.
Some coolness arose between him and Johnson, which has been
ascribed to the circumstance of a parody upon the style of his versions
of some of the relics of English ballads.* This incident was, however,
at the time of its occurrence, far more harmless than it was afterwards
made to appear. It was an unpremeditated effusion, in the natural
flow of conversation at the tea-table of Miss Reynolds ; but having been
retailed, circulated, and getting into the newspapers, it assumed a
character which was never intended. That, under this point of view,
it must have been felt painfully, can be inferred from the way in which
it is mentioned by contemporaries, who were not aware of all the cir-
cumstances ; and soon after, Johnson complains, that Dr Percy went
off to Ireland without taking leave of him.
It was in 1782 that Dr Percy became connected with this country,
by his promotion to the see of Dromore. Some accounts of his con-
duct, and of the character he sustained in his diocese, are brought
together by bishop Mant in his history. We cannot offer these more
satisfactorily than by extracting the brief account of the bishop: —
" Bishop Percy resided constantly in his diocese, where he is said to
* It was a parody on " The Hermit of Warkworth."
PERIOD.] THOMAS PERCY, BISHOP OF DROMORE. 157
have promoted the instruction and comfort of the poor with unremit-
ting- attention, and superintended the sacred and civil interests of the
diocese with vigilance and assiduity: revered and beloved for his
piety, liberality, benevolence, and hospitality, by persons of every rank
and religious denomination."*
The retreat of one who held a place so eminent in the most refined
circles of scholarship and cultivated taste, could not but be followed
by the most kindly recollections; and he still continued to be sought
by the gifted and the learned. When Sir Walter Scott was engaged
in his " Border Minstrelsy," a work similar in material and design to
the bishop's, he constantly consulted and kept up a correspondence
with him. His opinion of the bishop's literary merit we shall presently
notice.
Bishop Percy lived to a great age, and saw many changes in Ire-
land. He was deprived of sight some years before his death; and
under this afflicting privation, we are told that he showed the most
entire and even cheerful resignation; with the true temper of a chris-
tian, always expressing his deep thankfulness for the mercies of which
he had, through his long life, been the continual object. His last
painful illness was borne with the most exemplary resignation. He
died in September, 1811, at his episcopal mansion, and was buried
in a vault adjoining his cathedral.
Among the most popular literary remains of bishop Percy, may be
mentioned the beautiful ballad, " O Nannie, wilt thou fly with me,"
to a no less beautiful Scottish air. But the fullest justice to the
literary recollection of the bishop may be only done by reference to
the notices which he has received from one who was the most qualified
to appreciate him justly. In his introductory remarks 011 popular
poetry, Scott says: "The task of collecting and illustrating ancient
popular poetry, whether in England or Scotland, was never executed
by a competent person, possessing the necessary powers of selection
and annotation, till it was undertaken by Dr Percy, afterwards bishop
of Dromore, in Ireland. The reverend gentleman, himself a poet,
and ranking high among the literati of the day, commanding access
to the individuals and institutions which could best afford him mate-
rials, gave the result in a work entitled * Reliques of Ancient English
Poetry,' in three volumes, published in London, 1765, which has since
gone through four editions. The taste with which the materials were
chosen — the extreme felicity with which they were illustrated — the
display at once of antiquarian knowledge and classical reading which
the collection indicated, render it difficult to imitate, and impossible
to excel, a work which must always be held the first of its class in
point of merit," &c. This high praise admits only of the one excep-
tion, which the modesty of its author would not have admitted.
The bishop was savagely and unfairly attacked by Ritson, who, to
an irritability not quite clear of the limits of insanity, added the fierce
animosity of a fiery polemic. His objections, partially correct, were
urged with a fierceness and acrimony quite beyond the utmost delin-
quencies of literature.
* History of the Irish Church, vol. ii., p. 683,
158 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTII
, 33te!)op of ®lonfert,
BORN A. D. 1750. — DIED A. D. 1800
MATTHEW YOUNG, among the most eminent persons to whom Ireland
has given a birth-place for learning and talent, was born in the county
of Koscommon, in 1750.
Having entered the university of Dublin in 1766, he was elected
to the fellowship in 1775, after which he entered into holy orders.
He is said, at the examination for the fellowship, to have obtained
great credit for the knowledge which he had acquired in the New-
tonian philosophy, which he cultivated with the ardour of high scien-
tific genius. The period during which he lived in college was, in that
seat of science, pre-eminently distinguished for talent and literary
taste. It was the time when the first impulses of that scientific ad-
vance, which began to show itself in the civilized world, werejnore
or less felt in every literary body ; and, though it had much to depress
it, both in the state of the kingdom, and the constitution of the uni-
versity, was yet entertained by the leading minds of the place and
time. The university of Dublin, standing by far the first in Europe
as a seminary for the diffusion of a well-devised and equable system
of education, was, in its other capacity as an institution for the promo-
tion of literature and science, retarded and depressed by the severe
drudgery of the junior fellows, who were condemned to labour in a
treadmill of rudiments during the more active years of life. They were
compassed without by a sea of bigotry and political prejudice, party
exasperation, and democratic agitation. To cultivate learning, de-
manded a singular devotion, and a happy insensibility to the distrac-
tion and menace of the time. There was, indeed, another grievous
want: science had no public. There was no concert in the pursuits
of investigation, and none of that happy community among the varied
branches of knowlege, and their students, which now carries the
slightest thought through the civilized world. Men like Matthew
Young found little sympathy outside the walls of a laborious university.
The engagements of his fellowship admitted little relaxation, and
left less of that energy essential to his favourite studies. There
was indeed a provision for such men in the arrangements of the in-
stitution ; but at that time it was imperfect and insufficient. There
were a few professorships, neither sufficient in number or endow-
ment, which were from time to time filled by men competently
qualified for their appropriate paths of investigation. When we affirm
that they do not appear at that time to have been employed to the
best advantage, it is necessary in all fairness to add that this disad-
vantage has- been long removed. Men who were worn out by the
severe routine of university labour, as well as by years, were raised to
professorships, which, so far as lecturing alone is considered, they
filled with exemplary learning and competency; but the years of in-
vention, and intense and concentrated research, which draws deepest
on the vital powers, were gone. And thus it was that men like Young,
— far from few in the Dublin university — have so often passed, and left
PERIOD.] MATTHEW YOUNG, BISHOP OF CLONFERT. 159
no trace of what they ,were. Young toiled twenty years as a junior
fellow, before a vacancy in the professorship of natural philosophy,
to which he was elected, placed him in his appropriate seat.
In this interval, he had, by the very unusual industry of a mind
which never wearied in the application of the highest intellectual
powers, continued to acquire vast arid varied treasures in every branch
of study, and made considerable and curious advances in speculative
science — enough, indeed, to prove the high place he must have filled
in the scientific world of a later time. lie produced several works,
which manifested high powers of invention, some of which have been
rendered unimportant by the subsequent progress of science; and
others, perhaps, have never had their deserved reputation. Of these
we shall say a few words at the conclusion of our memoir.
But first is to be mentioned, that the scientific progress which
has of recent years so honourably distinguished the university of
Dublin, received its earliest impulse from Dr Young. Much addicted
to intellectual conversation, and hardly more remarkable for g-enius
than for his social virtues, he uniformly exerted himself to promote
the intercourse of the better minds in the university. Among* other
results of this nature, he brought together a society for the promotion
of sound theological learning. It was composed of the best and
ablest men in college, and lasted many years. As its members were
for the most part men eminent in scientific learning, it gave birth to
another society, of which Dr Young was also the main spirit. The
members of this constituted afterwards the Royal Irish Academy, now
among the few very highest scientific centres in the civilized world,
emanating' and receiving- its main intellectual life from the university;
from which, like some main artery of the heart, it communicates with
and sends life into the best mind of the country. Of tiiis, Dr Young
was, during the latter years of his life, the most distinguished mem-
ber; and the early volumes of the Transactions are adorned by numer-
ous proofs of his talent and varied research.
On his appointment to the chair of natural philosophy, he devoted
himself to its duties. A new and improved system of philosophical
instruments gave new aid to his lectures, which were soon raised to1
a reputation till then unknown.
To the firmness and independent spirit of Dr Young is prima-
rily due one of the most important benefits to the university, con-
ferred in the abatement of a flagitious and destructive abuse. For a
long succession of years anterior to 1791, the provosts of the univer-
sity had been accumulating an unconstitutional control — the natural
effect, perhaps, of the influence of station and authority, when acting
on a very narrow compass. The fellowship, according to the statutes,
and to the practice before and since, was the attainment of successful
competition, awarded by the majority of the senior fellows; but, for
some time, the provost had asserted a right of nomination. On
all other questions, a veto was pretended to. The consequences need
not be detailed. Dr Young drew up a memorial on the subject,
which, Dr Magee has remarked, would do honour to " the ablest
and best-informed legal understanding." The attention of the uni-
versity was thus awakened; and the next year, the question was for-
160 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
mally brought before the visitors. Happily, the vice-chancellor of
that day was a man of the most uncompromising firmness and integ-
rity of principle — lord Fitzgibbon; himself one of ~ the most dis-
tinguished students in the under graduate course, the university ever
produced; and these abuses were put a final stop to, by a judicial
decision.
His treatise on the " Phenomena of Sounds," had been published
in 1 784, two years before. He was engaged in, and had nearly com-
pleted his favourite work on the Newtonian calculus, when the see of
Clonfert became vacant. Earl Cornwallis was at the time lord-lieu
tenant. He nobly and wisely set aside the claims of many a courtly
aspirant, and asked for the most deserving : the most deserving was
Dr Young.
It is needless to dwell upon the few incidents of two years, in which
he laid aside his great work, to fulfil his still more important duties
as an overseer of the church. It was an interval painfully illustra-
tive of the uncertainty of all worldly success. " His consecration
took place on the third of February; and nearly at the same moment,
the dreadful malady, which terminated so fatally, made its appear-
ance. At first only a small ulcer on the tongue, it occasioned little
alarm; but the duty to which he was called at the primary visitation
of his diocese, of giving- a public exhortation to his clergy, produced
such an exaggeration of the complaint, as gave serious cause for
apprehension. Its horrid progress was henceforth continual. His
utterance became painful, and gradually inarticulate. The disorder
spread to the throat. To the dreadful pain attendant upon cancer
was added the torture arising from the application of the violent reme-
dies which were judged necessary. Hopeless of relief from regular
practitioners, he went to seek it at Whitworth, in Lancashire ; and
there, after near five months of extreme suffering, he expired, on the
28th of November, 1800, in the fiftieth year of his age.''*
The same writer mentions further: " It will hardly be credited,
that during the rapid progress of this deplorable malady, he drew up
from his lectures his ' Analysis of the Principles of Natural Philo-
sophy,' and superintended the publication with accuracy and correct-
ness scarcely to be equalled — laboured in the improvement of his com-
ment on the first book of Newton's Principia — wrote an essay on
sophisms, collecting examples of the several species from the works
of the deistical writers, thus at the same time serving the causes
of science and religion — made himself acquainted with the Syriac
language, and completed a translation of the Psalms, of which before
his illness he had done little more than sketch out the plan — and drew
up a demonstration a priori of the attributes of the Deity. These last
two works occupied his attention as long as he could hold a pen, and
were the subject of his correspondence till within a very few weeks
of his death. The axioms which he assumed as the foundation of his
proof of the existence of a God, are discussed by him in a letter to
the provost, dated the tenth of last October !"f
It remains to take some brief, and of course inadequate, notice of
* Appendix to Dr Elringtou's Funeral Discourse. f Ib.
PERIOD.] MATTHEW YOUNG, BISHOP OF CLONFERT. 161
his literary character and works. To enter adequately upon the in-
vestigations of mathematics and physical science, neither belongs to
a popular history, nor could answer any purpose for which we are
engaged. His great work was not quite prepared for the press at
his death. There yet remains a manuscript, of which if the merit is
at all answerable to the description, or to the character of the
author, the publication would be most desirable. We mean the essay
mentioned in the foregoing extract, and which is said to consist of
exemplifications of the several species of sophisms, collected from the
works of infidel writers. A plan of the utmost value to logic. No
sound-minded person who is intimately conversant with this inge-
nious though unsolid class, can fail to be aware how admirably
fertile is the field it offers for the fullest illustration of every species
of fallacy, disguised by all the arts of writing. In the long and con-
tinued controversy between Deism and Christianity, the utmost in-
genuity of the most subtle minds has been exhausted in the effort
to disprove the plainest, the clearest, and most complete body of
proof that has existence; and in this daring and desperate task,
the whole genius of fallacy has lavished its best and most curious
efforts. This is the more important, because logical writers have
not generally been very successful in the examples which they have
invented. Mr Hume, whose genius in inventing sophisms, and ad-
mirable dexterity in disguising them by fine and gradual transitions,
succeeded so long in perplexing the metaphysical world (the world of
words), would supply many chapters of the most instructive analysis,
to illustrate the various departures from right reason, and display the
consequences. Should Dr Young's collection bear any proportion to
his academic reputation, we must say that the publication of his MS.
would be a desirable present to the reasoning portion of the
public.
The scientific labours of Dr Young have not met their appropri-
ate recompense. In part, because they were not adequately brought
before the public; partly, because at the time, there was (properly
speaking) no scientific circle beyond the walls of the universities;
and, most of all, from the rapid development which every branch of
scientific investigation has since received. Hence it occurs, that in
the historical notices of science, in which far inferior men are named,
the name of Dr Matthew Young has not its place. It is now too
late to repair the omission. The following is the list of his works:
— " The Phenomena of Sounds and of Musical Strings ;" " The Force
of Testimony ;" " The Number of Prismatic Colours in Solar Light ;"
" On the Precession of the Equinoxes ;" " Principles of Natural
Philosophy."
&eb, SSSiiliam gjamtltom
DIED A. D. 1797.
THE Rev. William Hamilton was a fellow of the university of Dublin,
from which he retired on the college-living of Fanet, in the county
of Donegal.
VOL. VI. L
102 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTJl
He has merited commemoration by some writings which attracted
great and well-merited notice at the time. In his " Letters on the
Coast of the County of Antrim," his speculations on the geological
and mineralogical character of that interesting district, drew the
attention of scientific men in every part of Europe.
To the Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, he contributed
" An Account of Experiments for determining the Temperature of
the Earth's Surface in Ireland."
His efforts to maintain tranquility in the surrounding country had
been long successful, and obtained for him the love and veneration of
every class; when the evil spirit of revolt, then rapidly diffusing its
fatal influence, at last reached his county. He naturally became the
object of conspiracy.
One evening in March, 1797, he was returning home from a visit
to the bishop of Ilaphoe. Meeting some impediment at the ferry
over the Swilly, he took the occasion to call at Dr Waller's of Sharon,
and yielded to a pressing invitation to stay for the night. That night,
at nine o'clock, Mr Waller's house was surrounded by a gang of
armed miscreants, who fired several shots in through the window of
the sitting-room. Mrs Waller was killed. They next threatened to
burn the house, unless Mr Hamilton should be given up to them. In
this dreadful emergency, the servants took the authority in their own
hands; a horrible scene too revolting for description ensued. Every
feeling but the cowardly instinct of self-preservation was forgotten.
The unfortunate gentleman made a desperate struggle for his life,
and a diabolical ingenuity was used to overcome his resistance. Having
clung to the stair-case with a strong grasp, he was compelled to let
go his hold by the application of a lighted candle to his hands. And
thus, when all resistance was overcome, he was dragged to the door
and thrust out to the blood thirsty miscreants, by whom he was, of
course, instantaneously murdered.
lit $1156 Hamilton, ^tefiop of ®&m*a«
BORN A. D. 1729— DIED A. D. 1805.
UP to the most recent period, there may be traced many signs of a
reluctance, among the historians of learning, to do justice to several
most distinguished Irishmen. Of this, bishop Hamilton offers an
instance.
This distinguished mathematician was born in the county of Dublin,
in 1729; entered the university of Dublin; and in 1751, when yet in
his 22d year, obtained the fellowship.
In 1758, he published a " Geometrical Treatise of the Conic Sec-
tions," &c. It was eminently successful, and was soon adopted in all the
British universities, and approved in general by mathematicians. The
previous writers who had adopted the same general method of treating
this branch of science, had used methods of proof which were either
too narrow, or too prolix and circuitous. Dr Hamilton was the first
to deduce the properties of the conic section from the properties of
PERIOD.] HEV. ARTHUR OJLEARY. 163
the cone, by demonstrations which were general, unencumbered by
lemmas, and proceeding in a more natural and perspicuous order.
In 1759, Dr Hamilton was elected professor of natural philosophy.
In 176-1, he retired on a college living. After some further changes,
he obtained the deanery of Armagh. In 1796, he was promoted to
the see of Clonfert: the appointment was made without any solicita-
tion, or even knowledge, on his part.
He died 1st December, 1805.
. glrtfiur
DIED A. D. 1802.
ARTHUR O'LEARY is now recollected for his wit, humour, and social
qualifications. But he was a man of great worth, and sterling practi-
cal sense and integrity. He was born at Cork, and went in early life
to France, where he studied at the college of St Maloes. In due
course of time he became a Capuchin friar of the order of St Francis.
He obtained an appointment, as chaplain to the English prisoners,
during the seven years' war, with a small stipend from the French
government.
On his return to Ireland, he distinguished himself by his well-
directed efforts to dispel the prejudices of the people, on points essen-
tially connected with their welfare and the peace and improvement
of the kingdom. There existed at that time a strong and general
desire for the relief of the people of Ireland from the severe pressure
of the penal laws affecting the papists. The difficulty was very con-
siderable, and the question was perplexed on either side by objections
nearly insuperable. On one side was the illeg'al and extra-constitutional
authority of the pope ; on the other, the absolute impediment to national
progress, presented by such a state of law. It was evident to every
sound understanding, that the existence of a secret working foreign
jurisdiction over the conscience of a people, imperatively demanded the
counterbalance of a stringent system of control and exclusion. It was
no less certain, that no kingdom could have peace or attain civil pro-
sperity, with divisions and inequalities, distrust and animosities, per-
vading and poisoning- its entire system. Such was the question, of
which, as usual in all such questions, some saw one side and some
another; while few, indeed, seem to have perceived its real difficulty,
or actual merits.
O'Leary, with the practical good sense of his character, spoke and
acted with courage and clear discrimination. He endeavoured to
prevail on his countrymen to take advantage of the favourable dis-
position of their rulers, by conforming themselves to the essential
conditions of the constitution, and showed them the contradiction of
asking for the immunities and privileges of a state, the authority of
which they rejected.
In a tract entitled " Loyalty Asserted," he endeavoured to main-
tain that the Romanists might conscientiously swear that the pope
had no temporal authority in Ireland. In this he was strenuously
164 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FlFTH
opposed by his brethren. It is now superfluous to discuss the value
of the proposed concession; nor under any circumstances, should we
enter upon the consideration here: we would only guard against the
implication of any intent to convey our private opinion on the merits
of the proposal. It is obvious that the question would remain, to what
extent (in the particular case of the papal church) temporal dominion
may be involved in spiritual.
It is evident, from all the writings of O'Leary, that he was a man
of a clear and liberal understanding, who saw the real position and
wants of his unfortunate country, and did all that lay in his power to
breathe peace and right-mindedness. His efforts were on some occa-
sions successful in repressing the spirit of grievous outrage. And it
was admitted by the government, that he did much good, and pre-
vented much mischief.
But the cloud of prejudices, the irritation of discontent, and the
excitement of republican agitation, grew beyond the power of human
influence. A man like O'Leary could not, in such an interval as the
period of the Tones, Russells, &c., hope to maintain any authority
with the Irish populace. He retired to England. There he acted
for several years as clergyman to the Roman Catholic chapel in Soho
Square, and lived peacefully, and respected by every class and com-
munion.
He died at an advanced age, in 1802.
His writings have been published in one small volume. They in-
dicate all the clear good sense for which he was remarkable. Some
of his sayings are preserved, and have passed into the common stock
of social humour. One specimen at least has preserved the name of
its author. Some one who attempted, with great petulance, to draw
him into a dispute on purgatory, was told with quiet humour by
O'Leary, " You may go farther, and fare worse."
BOUN A. D. 1687. — DIED A. D. 1765.
DR MADDEN was born in 1687, and graduated in the university of
Dublin. He acquired a high reputation, in his own day, for learn-
ing and talent; but his claim upon the memory and the gratitude of
posterity, rests on benefits of an extensive and permanent kind, which
are widely and effectively felt, though they convey no adequate recol-
lection of their promoter.
The notices of Dr Madden are sufficiently numerous. It would,
indeed, be impossible that a name so connected with the most useful
institutions of Ireland, should be overlooked in any portion of our civil
history. But we have not been so fortunate as to discover any notice-
able details of his personal history. His monuments are thick around
us, and present themselves on every side ; — our arts, agriculture, and
literature, and all that has contributed to the best interests of Irish
civilization, are stamped with honourable recollections of Dr Madden.
Such a man, whose fortune and understanding appears to have been
PERIOD.] nEv. SAMUEL MADDEN, D.D. 165
mainly instrumental to the civil and intellectual progress of his
country, should, it might be thought, occupy a far more considerable
place in its history and recollections. That such is not the fact, is
simply the illustration of an important, though not very popular truth.
It is not the most exciting incidents, or the most noisy actors, which
impart the most decisive and important impulses to the real and per-
manent progress of the social state. The loud disturber who agitates
the passions of the crowd, will be traced by the calamities which
follow, and by the stern and lamentable, though necessary results of
retributive justice or controlling expediency. But the act which for-
wards the more silent and slow-working tendencies from which all
real improvement grows, can from the very nature of the process be
but slowly tested and indistinctly traced. A single sentence may
throw the nation into the waters of civil commotion, tinged with
blood, and leaving desolation and delay. While a beneficent institution
like the Dublin society, breathing a quiet influence upon the private
pursuits of individuals; entering into the workshop — the study — the
laboratory, — to suggest improvement, and propose reward; and, in.
something more than a figurative sense, shedding a quiet fertilizing
dew over hill and valley; operates like the growth of vegetation, only
to be seen by sober, thoughtful, and reflecting observation, though
happily felt through all the recesses of social being. When the
statue of the warrior whose victories have fortunately been effaced by
time, or the laws and policies of statesmen, have been outgrown, or
repealed or stultified by experience, the results of quiet industry, use-
fully encouraged, enlightened, and matured, will continue to be the
blessing of millions, though not perhaps to bear the founder's or pro-
moter's name.
In 1738, Dr Madden led the way to the most considerable step that
ever was made for the civilization of this country, by a pamphlet
entitled, " Reflections and resolutions proper for the gentlemen of
Ireland." In this most able tract, with a solid and sterling judgment
and sagacity, and a force, and even elegance of style, not often surpas-
sed, he suggested and impressed the real importance of the polite and
useful arts; after which he stated and proposed his plan: — " At as low
an ebb as these arts are in Ireland, I am confident, if reasonable salaries
were appointed by the public to two or three foreign architects, or if
the linen or tillage boards, or the Dublin society had funds assigned
to them to give premiums annually to the three best pictures, and
the three best statues made here, or to the architects of the three best
houses built annually in this kingdom, we should in time see surpris-
ing improvements in them all." The next year, he again called attention
to the subject in a letter to the Dublin society, in which he makes an
offer of £130 per annum for a premium-fund for the same objects.*
Dr Madden's suggestions were adopted; his noble contribution to im-
provement accepted ; and he lived to see the confirmation of his
opinions, and the fruit of his munificence in a prosperous beginning
of a course of rapid improvement.
But if Dr Madden has been inadequately repaid by the gratitudo
* Mr Foot's address in 1813.
166 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FiFTH
of bis countrymen for the benefits already stated; others, which are
certainly of not less importance, bave been still more lightly recol-
lected. If the beginnings of arts and popular institutions can be lost
sight of in the splendour and magnitude of their subsequent progress,
when through the medium of varied and numerous intelligence they
have adorned and fertilized the land. How much less likely to be
appreciated is the less prominent moral working, which, from small
beginnings, sets mighty but unseen influences in motion, and improves
the country by giving an increased momentum to its intelligence.
Such was the institution of the system of premiums in the university.
Of this most important change, the effect is by no means difficult to
understand; we only doubt that it has been so fully appreciated as we
think it deserves. It may be admitted, that the love of intellectual
attainment is capable of very high development; but, unless in a few
peculiarly constituted minds, and those not of the first order, this de-
velopment is itself the result of acquisition. The vivacity and living
impulses which mostly accompany the higher powers, have strong and
early tendencies, which conduce nothing to the desire of rudiments, or
of penetrating into spacious territories of knowledge, of which the uses
cannot well be seen, till some progress has been made. Hence has it
so often occurred that the most gifted men have been led astray in
the commencement of their lives into premature appropriations of their
genius, and been seen retracting their steps at much cost of life and
labour, when experience has enabled them to perceive how much they
have neglected the true ends of reason.
Before either the taste for acquirement, or a sense of its uses, can
well be attained, some initial motive appears evidently to be required.
The love of distinction, whether for industry or talent, almost coeval
with the moral conformation of the mind, was the principle selected
by the university on the suggestion of its public-spirited member.
This principle was adopted, and in 1734, the system of premiums at
the quarterly examinations, was adopted. The effects of this fortu-
nate expedient for the encouragement of youthful industry, by substi-
tuting immediate for remote results, is known to all who have received
a university education, and may be understood by all who know any-
thing of human nature.
Nor did the honourable deeds here emphatically and yet too feebly
and inadequately commemorated, emanate from an inferior or ordi-
nary understanding, though on this head there remains but slight in-
dication of what this eminent man really was. There is, however,
an ostensible answer to the suggestion, that from a learned man, so
earnest in the promotion of knowledge, and so sagacious in the means,
some literary monument might reasonably be looked for. Such is
not by any means, a conclusion warranted by strict experience. But,
not to discuss the principle in, the case of Dr Madden, there is an
incidental fact of some importance on record. A very considerable
scheme of literature, and which would probably have given a high
celebrity to his name, was for some reason recalled and laid aside
after its completion. The title of the work may explain the reason.
In 1732, he published the first volume of " Memoirs of the Twentienth
Century, or Original Letters of State under George the Sixth." Five
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 167
others were to follow. The public attention was roused, and a rapid
sale commenced; when suddenly the edition was called in and cancelled.
Such an account appears to carry with it a whole history, equally
suggested by the title and the result, of keen, far-sighted, and pene-
trating satire, and searching wisdom, laying bare the recesses of cor-
ruption and impolicy, and showing the remote consequences. Power
of statement and knowledge there must have been ; and, what is most
here to the purpose, time and toil must have been sunk in labours
which were frustrated of their aim.
Dr Madden cultivated poetry, and his productions were not de-
spised by a man like Leland, to whose life of Philip a copy of his
verses was prefixed. That his verses were but indifferent may be
excused, both because many of the ablest men have failed in their
attempts at poetry, but because he lived at a time when the very best
was hardly worthy of notice, and when the poetry of England was in
one of its dark intervals. The sun of Milton and Shakspeare was
set; that of Pope was in its dawn. The day of Johnson, Goldsmith,
and the more splendid and vigorous race which was to succeed, had
not appeared. The verses of Dr Madden's time are mostly astonish-
ing for their destitution of all that constitutes poetry. A poem en-
titled " Boulter's Monument," written by him, was revised by Dr
Johnson, then young in his fame. It is mentioned in his life. Dr
Madden is also said to have published a drama entitled " Themis-
tocles."
He was appointed to the living of Drummully, and preferred, it is
said, to a deanery.
His death occurred in 1765.
III.— LITERARY SERIES.
©liber
BOIIN A. D. 1729. — BIED A. D. 1774.
THE family of Goldsmith is ancient and respectable, and is traced
by Mr Prior so far back as 1542 in Ireland, when John Goldsmith
held the office of searcher in the port of Galway. A subsequent tra-
dition states that a Spaniard, travelling in Ireland, married a descend-
ant of this person, and that his children assumed their mother's
name. They settled in and on the borders of the county Roscommon.
One of these, the Rev. John Goldsmith, was one of the few who
escaped from the massacre at the bridge of Shruel, in 1641. He was
the ancestor of the poet, whose father was the fourth in descent from
him.
* To save much reference, we may here at once state that this memoir is, so
far as regards its statements of fact and dates, drawn up from Mr Prior's Life of
Oliver Goldsmith.
168 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
The Rev. Charles Goldsmith, father to the poet, was educated in
Trinity College, Dublin, and entered into holy orders. He married,
in 1718, Anne, daughter of the Rev. Oliver Jones, master of the dio-
cesan school of Elphin. Not being possessed of competent means of
living, they accepted of a house at a place called Pallas, near Bally-
mahon, in the county of Longford, from Mr Green, uncle to the lady.
Here they lived for a period of twelve years, struggling with difficul-
ties, and increasing their family.
The scale of these memoirs must exclude many interesting particu-
lars, which have now happily found a permanent record in Mr Prior's
able memoir — a work for which Ireland should feel grateful.
On the 20th of November, 1729, Oliver Goldsmith was born at
the place already mentioned. But two years after, on his father suc-
ceeding his uncle in the rectory of Kilkenny West,* the family re-
moved to Lissoy, a " respectable house and farm on the verge of a
small village standing in his own parish, on the right of the road
leading from Ballymahon to Athlone, and about midway between these
towns." That the poet's recollection of this place suggested the prin-
cipal local descriptions and characters in the Deserted Village, has
all the proof of which the matter admits. Mr Prior gives much and
deeply interesting information on these particulars, of which we shall
make further mention at a future stage of our task.
Of Goldsmith's childhood, much might be told. Such traditions have
generally no importance, because in the eminence commonly attained
by ordinary men, the genius of the man has little or no part. The moral
qualities or intellectual powers commonly displayed in the affairs of life
offer little distinction that may not be resolved into their mere amount.
When we are told of prudence, sagacity, varied learning, keen and
prompt wit, clear and commanding reason, combined as they may be in
various minds, we hear what most educated persons can thoroughly con-
ceive, and what few are without in their several degrees. In the recesses
of poetic power, however common to mankind its separate elements
may be, there are depths of conception and creative invention unfa-
thomed by the possessor, and a mystery to the world. Hence the
seemingly irreconcilable phases of the same individual; the compre-
hensive reason, and the infantine simplicity; the slowness and dulness,
concealing the accumulated treasures of observation; the second self,
that awakens in the moments of serious exertion or high excitement,
and presides in solitude. Of such combinations, on which we refrain
from dilating, Goldsmith was an extreme instance. Those who have
attentively read his works, and who are acquainted with the commonly
known anecdotes of his public life, will be well prepared to learn that
he was considered to be a dull child — that his first instructress " ad-
mitted he was one of the dullest boys ever placed under her charge, and
doubted for some time whether anything could be made of him." His
schoolfellows, we learn, on the same authority, considered him as
"little better than a fool, whom everybody made fun of." The
* These localities are here stated without any notice of the old and long-stand-
ing disputes upon the subject, documents stated by Mr Prior having settled the
question beyond controversy.
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 169
case, indeed, appears extreme ; but there was a natural and easily
traced connection between the character of the slow and seemingly
dull child, and the well-known etourderie of the man, which gives
it the importance of a principle in the exposition of a character which
it is hard to contemplate without some curiosity. For this reason,
we trust that it will not be thought digressive if we commence his
memoir by a deliberate analysis of this not uncommon incident, of which
Goldsmith was so strong an instance. It will, if we mistake not, much
facilitate the conception of his character, and place it in a simpler and
juster point of view than it has hitherto attained.
Among those to whom the habits of children are most commonly the
subject of observation, it is not too much to say that there is an entire
ignorance of the human mind and its faculties. And the consequence,
so far as we are here concerned, is a constantly occurring mistake.
Not being aware of the entire distinctness of several of the intellec-
tual tendencies, every appearance is resolved into one of the two opposite
categories of dulness or cleverness — a readiness to learn the alphabet — a
smartness which is shown in bird-catching or in mischief — a prompt-
ness in acquiring the mysteries of the kennel or stable, or any kind of
smartness and vivacity ; all very commonly pass for the promise of talent.
It never occurs to the fond mother, and still less to the nurse or school-
mistress, that in the occupations and pursuits of the grown-up world, all
these numerous talents are to be seen exercised in their highest per-
fection by persons in whom there is a manifest incapacity for all the
higher and profounder applications of mind. It is not perceived how
destitute the smart stable-boy, or precocious little man who manufac-
tures mouse-traps, or apes his seniors in folly, may be of imagination,
of the reasoning faculty, or of fancy, or of moral or intellectual tact.
These qualifications, less conversant with the ordinary minutice of
daily life, and slower in their external manifestations, pass unseen
by the vulgar eye, and gather force and material in the silent pro-
cesses of observation, feeling, and association. If marked at all, it is
most likely to be by the impatience of minute details, and an insensi-
bility to all that does not move the sensibility or awaken the fancy.
Thus endowed, if a child has not much vivacity, it will pass for dull :
if it has, it may show tendencies which will be called odd or wild,
but which are likely in some way to be misunderstood by the vulgar
observer. These considerations are sufficient for our immediate
object; but we must guard against a possible misconception. In ex-
plaining these distinct tendencies of human character, it is not in-
tended to be affirmed that they are necessarily and always to be found
separate, or that the same individuals may not frequently be seen
possessed of a combination of the most opposite endowments. We
merely assert, that such a division occasionally does occur — whether
often or rarely, is not of present concern. Goldsmith was pre-
eminently an instance to be explained by the distinction.
He was pre-eminently a poet by nature — and it must, in these latter
times, be emphatically added, a poet of nature. From the first dawn
of intelligence, his whole mind was unconsciously taken possession of by
the associations of feeling and fancy. In accordance with this, his eyes
and ears were governed, and his heart moulded by a spirit which threw
170 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
the halo of imagination round even the simple vulgarities that sur-
rounded him. Devoid of vivacity, ungifted with the common shrewd-
ness of common men, he only saw the outside of the busy play of rural
life around him. Prone to reflection, he soon began to moralize upon,
but not to penetrate, the affairs of life and the conduct of men. Hence,
he was unconsciously different from those about him: while he was
more fanciful and reflective, he was also more simple and implicit in
his notions. Hence the ridicule of meaner minds — hence the frequent
etourderies — and hence the keen sense of ridicule, awakening with
the years of puberty, called forth and gave a painful development to
vanity.
For the more clearness, the same elements may be traced also in the
conduct of the adult. As new passions are called into existence, and
new relations of life arise, the mind is forced into numerous points of
contact with other minds; and conforms more nearly to the ordinary
ways of life. But the habits and tastes are already formed. The
intellectual faculties become engaged on the conduct and actions of
men, and the poet or the philosopher contemplates and meditates on
the players of an active and crafty game, which he wants the art and
activity to play. Instead of profiting by his experience, he melts
it into the mass of his philosophy; and while he grows wise in
the science of human nature, he continues a child in conduct. From
this general consideration can easily he traced the whole of Gold-
smith— the irritable sensibility — the moralizing simplicity — the way-
ward humour — hurried and earnest self-assertion. We can also
discriminate the goodness of heart, unchecked even by prudence — the
deep affections to man and nature — the fond recollections of early
scenes of unreality — his Auburn, the poetry of his youth, in which
fancy takes its tone from the deepest fountains in the human heart, and
communicates to his verse more touches of irresistible pathos than
are elsewhere to be found in poetry. Much more may be accounted
for, from the same simple principles : but we fear to be led too far
into disquisition, and reserve these considerations for further occa-
sions. So far, they will throw some useful light on the main history
of his life.
At six years of age, he was committed to the village schoolmaster,
Thomas .Byrne ; of whom an interesting account is preserved in Mr
Prior's memoir. Under this person's care, he made no considerable
progress. But the earlier indications of poetry began to appear. His
sister's description of him at this period, is by Mr Prior stated thus: that
his temper, " though peculiar, was kind and affectionate ; his manner,
for the most part, uncommonly serious and reserved; but when in gay
humour, none more cheerful and agreeable." Mr Prior follows out
this description, by comparing it with the very similar temper and
manners afterwards so familiarly known in the history of his London
life.
We cannot enter at length into some interesting statements, relative
to the books which at that time were the substance of popular litera-
ture in Ireland;— works of the most absurd or superstitious fiction;
histories of robbers, taken from the Newgate Calendar; and ballads
without end. Nor shall we delay to trace the effects of such reading
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 171
on the poet's youth, because though we agree with his historian in
thinking it must have been very considerable, yet it is, according to
our views, but secondary to the more general causes already men-
tioned— that is, so far as regards Goldsmith.
Among the incidents which may have had a very deep influence on
his mind, was one otherwise of some consequence. A very severe
attack of smallpox, which became confluent, and nearly threatened
life, left its marks upon his face, and thus exposed him to a species of
coarse and offensive ridicule, which is the sharpest of all to the vanity
of youth. From this the perpetual consciousness of a shame to be
protected and vindicated must needs have begun ; and the weapons of
retort must have been sharpened in painful meditation. Of this there
are proofs in the shape of anecdotes, which cannot here be told. He
began to acquire the reputation of wit, from occasional flashes of keen
vindictive sarcasm.
In consequence of this illness, he was taken from the school of
Byrne, and sent to an uncle's residence in or near Elphin, in. the
county of Roscommon. There he attended the school, which had
once been his grandfather's; and began to apply his mind more sedu-
lously to study.
He was first destined to the mercantile profession ; but the indica-
tions of talent which now began to be displayed, led his parents to
form a strong desire to give him the advantage of a college education.
His brother Henry was already reading for the university at a school
in Longford. Oliver was now sent to a school in Athlone, where he
continued two years. On the death of the master, he was removed to
Edgeworthstown school, from which he entered the university. From
his schoolfellows, many interesting recollections of him were after-
wards collected : we can only say of these, that they all tend to con-
firm the sketch already given of his youthful character.
We pass to his college history. He entered college as a sizar, in
the year 1745, in his sixteenth year — a fact which, though it is to be
added that he was last on the list of the eight successful candidates,
seems to offer proof of considerable attainment. It was the misfortune
of Goldsmith, that he Avas entered under the tuition of Mr Wilder —
a man known for the irregularity of his own conduct, during the
earlier stages of his college life, and for singular harshness and bru-
tality after he became a fellow. By this gentleman, his proud and
sensitive pupil was treated with the most galling contempt, and had to
endure insults which even a firmer and humbler spirit could not easily
have borne. These affronts he retorted at times, and thus added to
the animosity of his persecutor, and made for himself a powerful
enemy, where he should have found a protecting friend; and if ever a
friend and protector was essentially needed, it was by poor Goldsmith,
whose mind appears to have been wholly destitute of all conducting
sense, and who drifted at the random impulse of his passions.
The condition of a sizar in the university has been humanely and
beneficially changed: it was then replete with humiliations; and these
were the more felt by Goldsmith, as the pretensions of his family were
respectable. The income of his father was small, and rendered less
by improvidence — so that he could obtain but scanty supplies from
172 LITERARY SERIES. [FiFTH
home; and mortifying privations were superadded to exasperations and
humiliations. Such a condition would have tasked the fortitude, pru-
dence, and forbearance, of a stronger character. It is not to be won-
dered at, if it exercised the most inauspicious influences on the feeble
and sensitive temper of such a subject. The sore and captious vanity
which had been early developed by unlucky concurrences, was here
inflamed, by contempts and humiliations, into an organic defect.
But this was not all. In Goldsmith's disposition, the imprudence
for which his race had always been noted, seemed to have attained the
maximum point. His penurious means were squandered on the im-
pulse of the moment that placed them within his reach. His scanty
pittance was equally ready at the call of pleasure or pity ; and the
sustenance of a month went to furnish the thankless revel, or to re-
lieve some well-feigned distress. It may be supposed that such a
temper, with such circumstances, must have involved him in many
distressing and many ludicrous embarrassments ; and of such, examples
enough will be found in Mr Prior's history of his life.
He appears, nevertheless, to have been not entirely remiss in the
pursuit of the classical portion of the college course, as he was one
of the competitors for the scholarship; and though he did not succeed,
he yet obtained an exhibition — then not worth more than thirty shil-
lings a-year.
Jn 1747) his father died; and his means of support, always scanty,
became still more so. The remittances from home were at an end,
and he became dependent on the kindness of such of his relations as
could spare an occasional contribution to his necessities; and but for
this, he should have entirely relinquished his studies.
Among the friends to whom he was thus indebted, the principal
was the Rev. Thomas Contarine, who had married his aunt — a gen-
tleman of whose origin and personal history Mr Prior gives a most
curious and interesting account.
With all these disadvantages and difficulties, he possessed a san-
guine temper, which, if it led him into indiscretions, still suggested
hopes. Though mortified by the dislike of his tutor, he possessed the
good-will of his class-fellows, who loved his amiability and his convivial
talents, and pitied his weaknesses: among these he was treated with
friendly respect and regard. In their freaks and sports he took a
prominent part; and in the convivialities to which, at that time, the
youth of the country were (like their fathers) too much addicted, his
song and story were among the best attractions. It is indeed known,
that among the expedients to which he was compelled to resort for
the means of subsistence, was the composition of ballads for the street
singers, and that he sold these performances for five shillings a-piece.
With his gift of verse well adapted to either light or grave, it can
be conceived that he must have had some success in this mode of
recruiting his purse. For the light compositions by which his
necessities were thus relieved, he is mentioned to have shown some
parental feeling, as it was his custom to stroll through the streets at
night for the purpose of listening to them.
In 1747? there occurred a very serious riot in Dublin, in which the
students took a principal part, and in which many were hurt, and
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 173
some lives lost. In consequence, some students were expelled: Gold-
smith was among those who were publicly admonished as accessories
to the riot. The consequence of this disgrace was beneficial to Gold-
smith, who thereupon exerted himself to some purpose, and soon after
obtained the exhibition already mentioned. It was his first academic
distinction; but, according to the accounts which have been pre-
served, appears to have led to an unfortunate result. In his exulta-
tion, he thought fit to give a dance and supper to a party of his col-
lege associates and city acquaintances, of both sexes, in his rooms.
Mr Wilder, hearing of this breach of discipline, proceeded to the
place, and reprimanded him very severely (and perhaps justly) before
all his guests. Goldsmith retorted, and it may be inferred in no very
respectful or measured language. This the savage temper of Mr
Wilder could not endure; and, giving way to his ferocity, he pro-
ceeded to inflict personal chastisement. From such a grievous indig-
nity, there was no refuge for the mortified pride of the unhappy suf-
ferer but absence from the scene of his mortification. He came to
the resolution of quitting college, and seeking his fortune in some
foreign country. With this view, he sold his books and other dis-
posable effects. Having thus obtained a small sum of money, he
yielded to the temptation to spend it, and remained in town till it was
reduced to a shilling. On this he starved for three days, and then
sold his clothes, which did not sustain him long. Sobered by suffer-
ing, he then turned homeward, and was met and relieved by his
brother, Henry. This kind and affectionate brother, having clothed
him, brought him back to college, and effected a hollow and transient
reconciliation between him and his tutor. There are reasons stated
by Mr Prior, which confirm the affirmation of Dr Michael Kearney
(himself a good authority), that Goldsmith obtained a premium in a
Christmas examination. This was, of course, a classical premium, as
lie had made no progress in science. Mr Prior's researches seem to
fix this incident on the Christmas examination of 1748.
He graduated with his class in February, 1 749, and quitted college
immediately — glad to leave a scene of humiliation and disappointment.
Conscious of talents of a high order, it had been painfully forced upon
his feelings, that they were not of a kind at that time to be appreciated
in that seat of learning; and that, whether from a want of inclination
or intellectual power, he was deficient in those branches of knowledge
on which academic reputation depended. In this, no doubt, idleness
and disinclination had their share: but, at the same time, it is impos-
sible not to be aware that his understanding was not of that order
from which much could be hoped in any swalk of exact science.
.His fancy, feelings, and moral perceptions, held in the composition of
his mind a development of the highest order. An ear for the har-
mony of language, his most especial and distinguishing gift, com-
pleted the man, and made the poet and rhetorician. For mathematics
he had acquired a distaste. The general cause of this we have ex-
plained in a previous memoir: — it is perhaps peculiar to mathematical
science, that its first approaches convey no intimation of the attractive
subjects of research to which it leads. To the spirit of fancy and
sentiment it appears dull, barren, and contracted; and as it can be
174 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTII
successfully cultivated (up to a certain limit) by persons of the most
inferior faculties, the successful industry of many seemed to oiler to
one like Goldsmith the disagreeable condition of a harassing and
lowering competition with hard-working and patient mediocrity.
The vanity of youthful self-confidence would look with slight on a
rejected pursuit; and this was an infirmity observable at the latest
periods of his life. What he did not cultivate, he despised ; what he
could not (or would not) master, was not worth mastering. Mathe-
matics and logic were the objects of his avowed scorn; and not
these alone: we find him dropping contemptuous sneers at Shak-
speare and Milton, and generally speaking in a tone of slight or
censure of whatever lay without his own range of exertion. Much
of this may be traced to the incidents of his early life; but these
must have, after all, been rendered effectual by the conformation
of a peculiar genius. It is, indeed, probable that it is to this
strong and peculiar bent that much of the real power, still un-
equalled in its own walk, is due. What Johnson has said of
Thomson is applicable with far more truth to Goldsmith — he saw
everything with the eye of a poet: this is only true of Thomson's
verse. Goldsmith lived in the sphere of his own moral and poetic
creed, such as it was — not profound or philosophical, but deeply dyed
with all the affections of the simplest human nature. Devoid of
artificial refinements, or the powers of subtle elaboration, the realities
of common life, as known to his own heart, rushed upon his concep-
tion with a power which mere imagination never gave, and supplied
those affecting-, true, and harmonious pictures, drawn from the simplest
objects, and coloured with the most common hues, such as none but the
great masters of the epic or lyric ever left, or will leave. But we are
anticipating — not perhaps to no purpose, as there is little told of
Goldsmith that will not give light, or receive it from his character as
a poet. He was among those who cannot be justly understood with-
out a deep and lively sympathy with the secret spirit that pervaded
his mind and characterized all his steps — the
" Charming nymph, neglected or decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so."
Perhaps, when the writer of these lines is rightly understood, it will
be felt that his poetry is too deeply identified with his life to be
separated from it, Every one, even the slightest, of those singularly
vivid touches of pathetic incident, which are profusely scattered
through the Deserted Village, are the realities of early recollection,
sketched by affection and fancy. Even the" fallacies are true as re-'
gards the simple-minded and warm-hearted observation of the relator.
The benevolent sympathy with human suffering, and the proud but
too much mortified and irritated independence that warred against
the pretensions of the proud, alike obscure the judgment and distort
the perception of one far more endowed with feeling than discri-
mination, whose genius was, with all its vivid and various power,
intensely that of human nature, and neither chilled nor enlightened
by the habits or the intellectual tendencies of the metaphysician.
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 175
From the university, Goldsmith returned to the friends and to the
haunts of his youth, and passed two years in idleness — undetermined
and reluctant to decide as to his future profession. He was evidently
much imbued with the restless love of excitement and adventure,
which seldom fails to mark the poet. His temper recoiled from still-
life industry, and the monotony of professional occupation. He went
from place to place, sojourning as a guest among his relations. For
a while he gave assistance in the school of his brother Henry, who
was still curate of the living once held by his father, but lived in the
old family-house at Lissoy. From the drudgery of teaching he soon
recoiled, in disgust. At his uncle Contarine's, also, he passed much
time. His favourite occupations were active: he gave himself up
with lively and earnest fondness to the sports of the field, and loved to
join in all the athletic recreations then cultivated by every class in
Ireland, and more especially in the western counties.
His friends were earnest in their anxiety to see him settle into
some sober pursuit; and the church, as the most immediately con-
nected with a college education, and in which he was most likely to
succeed, was thought of first. With this, however, his love of pleasure,
and that vanity which was the prevailing weakness of his mind, inter-
fered. He did not much relish the strict morality which he, justly
and truly, associated with a sacred calling : he could not submit to its
unpopularity; he could not abandon, however remote, the hope of
cutting a gay and splendid figure in the attire of the world At last,
it is mentioned, the urgency of his friends prevailed, and he was pre-
sented for ordination to a bishop. But his studies had not lain in
theological literature, and he was refused, probably on a strict ex-
amination. Another peaceful interval of rural relaxation, spent in the
idle yet active amusements he loved the best, though he afterwards
describes them with slight, followed. He was loved by his rustic inti-
mates, with whose concerns he sympathized, and in whose sports he
took even a leading part. He was much addicted to conviviality, and
passed much of his time at an inn opposite his mother's house; and
seems to have found companionship and sympathy in every company
and amusement. Among his more respectable associates in the
vicinity of Ballymahon, his favourite was a college acquaintance, Mr
George Bryanton, at whose residence he was a frequent guest, and
with whom he often shared the excursion or the field-sport.
This life could not last very long. Neither the means of his rela-
tions could afford to maintain an idler, nor could a decent pride en-
dure so total and helpless a state of dependence. Though Goldsmith
was not one from whom such considerations were likely to find early
regard, yet he must have heard plain speaking now and then: the bread
of dependent idleness is never wholly unmixed with bitterness. His
kind and generous uncle, Contarine, obtained a tuition for him — an
occupation for which he was radically unfit; but this was yet to be dis-
covered. In the situation thus obtained he remained a year, until he
became weary of the confinement and drudgery. He quitted it in
consequence of a quarrel with some of the family.
It appears probable that during this interval he paid a visit to hia
relative and namesake, the dean of Clovne. But, as there are no
176 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
details to be relied upon of the circumstances of this visit, it will be
enough to mention that there is reason to think he was disappointed
as to any hope he may have formed from such a connection.
On leaving his tuition, he possessed a horse, and thirty pounds.
•With this sum, he came to the determination to seek his fortunes in
America. Having proceeded to Cork, he sold his horse, and made
his bargain with a captain about to sail, to whom he paid his freight
and expenses. For three weeks, the vessel was detained by weather;
and at last, when the weather became favourable, Goldsmith had
absented himself, and gone on some party of pleasure, so that the ship
departed without him. The rest of this adventure is characteristically
told, and must be given in his own words. It, indeed, strongly displays
the reckless improvidence which was the cause of all his misfortunes.
" The remainder of my time I employed in the city and its environs,
viewing everything curious; and you know no one can starve while
he has money in his pocket. Reduced, however, to my last two
guineas, I begun to think of my dear mother and friends whom I had
left behind me, and so bought that generous beast, Fiddleback, and
bade adieu to Cork, with only five shillings in my pocket. This, to
be sure, was but a scanty allowance for man and horse towards a
journey of above an hundred miles; but I did not despair, for I knew
J must find friends on the road." The adventures which followed are
told with all the dramatic effect which his pen could so well command.
We must be content with the mere incidents. He first thought of a
friend whom he had known in his college days, who lived in the
vicinity of Cork, and had often urgently invited him, with many pro-
mises of amusement, to spend a summer with him in the county of
Cork. Towards the habitation of this kind friend Goldsmith con-
fidently turned his course, secure of entertainment, counsel, and relief.
He was at first cordially received, and might have found all the
friendship he had any reason to expect, had it not been so urgently
wanting. But when his story was told, so decided a change came
over the manner and countenance of his friend, that he could not help
perceiving it. This amiable and worthy gentleman, who would have
thought it worth while to entertain a spirited and agreeable com-
panion, from whose company he might draw credit and advantage,
immediately saw that the reckless confidence of the good-natured
prodigal who claimed his friendship might cost something more than
the quid pro quo, which is the only consideration with such cold and
stunted spirits. He at once saw that his friend was likely to be more
troublesome than pleasant, and to be got rid of as quickly as the forms
of civility, and a due care for whole bones, would allow. He could
not well retract the cordiality of the first welcome — few have effront-
ery equal to their actual meanness ; but he endeavoured to extricate
himself by arts not quite uncommon, though seldom carried so far.
He resolved, with all possible politeness, to starve away the needy
visitor, who had indiscreetly owned that he had but " one half-crown
in his pocket," and was so silly as to add that he now thought himself
in "a safe and comfortable harbour." The surprise and perplexity which
this disclosure occasioned, poor Goldsmith at first attributed to kind
concern ; and the long silence which followed, to a nice sense of deli-
PERIOD.! OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 177
cate friendship, which was to be shown by acts, not words. He was
undeceived : after a long fast of several hours, during which he wasted
much curious speculation upon the lateness of dinner, the housekeeper
made her appearance with a bowl of sago, some sour milk, mouldy
bread, and mity cheese. He was then told that his friend's illness
had condemned him to live on slops, and that the house had in conse-
quence been unsupplied. Soon after, he retired for the night, and
Goldsmith was obliged to go to bed hungry. The next morning, he
determined on retreat; and, on declaring his intention, it was warmly
approved of by his host, who told him, " To be sure, the longer you
stay away from your mother, the more you will grieve her and your
other friends," &c. Goldsmith now renewed his statement of distress ;
asked for the loan of a guinea, and promised repayment; at the same
time reminding his host, " It is no more than I have often done for
you." To which he firmly answered, " Why, look you, Mr Gold-
smith, that is neither here nor there. I have paid you all you ever
lent me ; and this sickness of mine has left me bare of cash. But I
have bethought myself of a conveyance for you: sell your horse, and
I will furnish you with a much better one to ride on." — " I readily
grasped at the proposal, and begged to see the nag; on which he led
me to his bed-chamber, and from under the bed he pulled out a good
stout oak stick," &c. When he received this gift, Goldsmith was yet
doubting whether he should not begin by applying it to the giver's
back, when his doubt was interrupted by a rap at the street door.
His host flew to the door, and returned with a gentleman, to whom,
as if nothing of the previous incidents had occurred, he introduced
Goldsmith as his ingenious and worthy friend, of whom he had so
often heard him speak with rapture. This gentleman invited them
both to dine. They accepted the invitation, and were hospitably
entertained. When they were about to retire, Goldsmith was asked
to stay; on which he says, "I plainly told my old friend that he
might go home and take care of the horse he had given me, but that
I should never re-enter his doors." At this new friend's he remained
three days; and, when departing, was offered the free use of his
purse. He took but a guinea, and proceeded homeward. Mr Malone
has expressed his doubts of the truth of this and other passages of
this period of Goldsmith's life. His doubts are judiciously discussed
by Mr Prior. But they are in reality absurd, and have no ground
but Mr Malone's want of perception of character.
His relations once e more took up the perplexing question of his
future profession, now become additionally embarrassing by the fuller
development of a character too manifestly unfit for any common
course of industry. They hit upon the most unsuitable of all, and
contributions were soon supplied to fit him for the law. Mr Contarine
gave him fifty pounds, and he repaired to Dublin, on the way to
London, where he was to keep the usual terms. The result might
have been calculated upon, for one in whom any sober course of
steady proceeding would have been a strange exception to all his pre-
vious conduct. But in this instance, the event surpassed even his
ordinary indiscretion; for, immediately after his arrival in Dublin, he
was tempted to a gaming-house, and left pennyless again. The indis-
VOL. VI. M
178 LITEHARY SERIES. [FlFTH
cretions of Goldsmith were not from the want of either principle,
right feeling, or knowledge; but from the utter recklessness and
facility which prevented him from using them. It was when the
headlong impulse was over, and the folly done, that reflection came
and overwhelmed his sensitive and infirm breast with ineffectual shame
and remorse ; and brought good resolutions, seldom to be trusted, but
which in him had no abiding root. He was for some time reluctant
to communicate his error and loss, and remained in much embarrass-
ment in Dublin.
The circumstances were at last made known, and he was invited
home. His uncle forgave him at once; and his mother, after some
time. He then went to live with his brother Henry, and remained
with him until some unpleasant difference between them occurred.
The next attempt for his advancement was, after two years, now
made by the advice of the dean of Cloyne. The medical profession
was to be tried; and it was arranged that he should go to study
physic at Edinburgh.
He was enabled to proceed to Edinburgh by the united contribu-
tions of his relations, who promised their continued effort for his
maintenance while on his studies. His love of natural history — his
habits of curious observation, were favourable to the project, and he
set off with more than usual hopes of himself.
We must pass briefly over this interval, of which the recollections
are far too indistinct for any purpose of so brief a memoir. Some
verses, supposed to have been written during the preceding interval
of idleness, are, with some probability of circumstance, and much of
internal evidence, traced to the magazines in which he was afterwards
a contributor. He took the lead in convivial parties, which he could
well enliven by song and tale, — and was much liked by his fellow-
students, both for his powers of amusing and for his extreme good-
nature. He was, as usual, imprudent in his expenses, and suffered
often for his imprudence; and this was increased by the irregularity
of his correspondence with home. Of this correspondence, few
specimens remain: they are such as would lead us to wish for more —
being full of the natural character and humour of the writer, and
little short, in point of style, of his best productions. Much, indeed,
of the power of Goldsmith's style — and style is his first pretension —
was, more than in any other writer we can recollect, the result of
a felicitous constitution of nature, and to some extent independ-
ent of either study, skill, or acquirement. \\^e cannot here quote,
but it is a part of his history to state one communication con-
tained in a letter to his uncle. " I read (with satisfaction) a science
the most pleasing in nature, so that my labours are but a relaxation,
and, I may truly say, the only thing here that gives me pleasure."
It also appears, from the same letter, that he had attained some de-
gree of economy in the management of his resources, and also how very
limited they were. " I draw," he writes, " this time for £6, and will
draw next October but for £4, as I was obliged to buy everything
since I came to Scotland, — shirts even not excepted." As this letter
is dated in May, the reader will perceive that the £6 here drawn for
was the allowance for six months, — so far as his uncle's contribution;
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 179
and his uncle must have been by much the largest contributor to his
support. He was entangled by having become security for the debts
of a fellow- student, and might have been thrown into prison, had he
not, in his turn, received seasonable assistance from two other Irish
students — Mr Sleigh, afterwards a physician, resident in Cork, the
well-known friend of Burke and Barry; the other, a Mr Maclaine,
still more known afterwards in London.
During the latter part of his sojourn in the Scottish metropolis, he
probably had much enlarged his circle of friends. His exceeding
honesty and good-nature must have struck and conciliated the better
and more discerning observers among a shrewd and observant people.
His social talents must have attracted many, and made him popular.
He obtained an introduction at the duke of Hamilton's, in whose circle
he was for some time a frequent guest. But for this species of inter-
course he was incapacitated by the skinless vanity which made him
too sensitively alive to every seeming of slight. He was not, perhaps,
much mistaken in the suspicion that he was entertained on account of
liis power of amusing.
He had been about two years in Scotland, when he made arrange-
ments for his voyage to Leyden — then among the first in repute as a
school of physic. It was, most probably, the extreme slenderness of
liis finances that exposed him on that occasion to unpleasant contin-
gencies, which might well seem attributable to his natural inadvertency,
though this unquestionably had some share in aggravating his distress.
Having engaged his passage in some trader, he presently found him-
self one of*a company of persons, in Avhose appearance and bearing a
more guarded observer would have discerned indications which might
suggest cautious reserve in his intercourse with them. Goldsmith's
good-nature, and rather extreme love of good-fellowship, threw him
off his guard ; and it appears, by his account, that he suffered himself
to be drawn into the most unreserved familiarity with persons of very
doubtful character. Two days after they put to sea, they were forced,
by roug-li weather, to gain the English coast, and landed at Newcastle-
upon-Tyne. They proceeded to refresh themselves at an inn, and were
engaged in the height of convivial merriment, when the whole party
was surprised by a Serjeant with his file of soldiers, and carried off
to jail. They turned out to be Scotchmen who were sent over by
the king of France for the purpose of a secret levy of men in Scot-
land. Goldsmith was detained for a fortnig-ht; and there is reason to
believe that he only extricated himself by the aid of his Edinburgh
iViends. As it occurred to him that such an adventure might inter-
fere with his degree, he for some time endeavoured to cover the
transaction with stories of an arrest for debt. This incident, though
roplete with inconvenience and vexation, was, nevertheless, the pro-
vidential means of saving his life; for, in the meantime, the vessel had
ngain put to sea, and was wrecked, with the loss of crew and cargo.
He now once more obtained his passage; and, after nine days' sailing,
was landed at Rotterdam, from which he made good his way to Ley-
den. The same letter from which (as given by Mr Prior) we extract
these incidents, also gives an interesting account of the people and
country, in Goldsmith's best style of humour and description. One of
180 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
the most striking characteristics of Goldsmith is the curious and
sometimes puzzling mixture of sagacity and simplicity, of inadvertence
and correct observation. For this we should feel it necessary to ac-
count, but that it is a combination common enough to have been notice-
able by every one who has seen much of mankind. Though thus happily,
both for ourselves and our readers, relieved from moral disquisition, we
may point attention to some conditions which render a seeming incon-
sistency more intelligible. It will be, perhaps, enough to say, what most
persons will perceive the truth of, that a keen and discriminating obser-
vation is in itself wholly distinct from those qualities of prudence and
discretion by which it may be turned to the best account, when these
advantages happen to exist in the same person. The first are intellec-
tual ; the second, moral endowments — often enough seen asunder. We
thus, not unnaturally, through this life, find the most imprudent and
inconsiderate of men observing keenly the events of life, anatomizing
the conduct of men with skill, yet never seeming to make any volun-
tary effort of judgment for his own guidance. Again, Goldsmith's
powers of ridicule are seldom surpassed; but his keen sense of the
absurd seems never for a moment to interfere with his own absurdity.
It is, after all, but an extreme case of a common truth: most people
are more apt to exercise their discrimination on others than on them-
selves; and the conduct of many is not so much regulated by their
prudence as by the impulse of the moment.
With what diligence Goldsmith's studies were prosecuted at Ley-
den, we have no very certain means of judging; nor is it a question
of any importance. They were, however, the favourite objects of his
taste; and probably formed a source of interest and occupation.
There seems to be sufficient ground for the conclusion that he took
no degree : there is indeed reason to believe that he was not formally
matriculated as a student. It is probable that his narrow finances
compelled him to pursue a more economical and less regular course
of study.
When he had been there about a year, he came to the resolution of
travelling. This is peculiarly illustrative of the temper of his cha-
racter. Full of unsettled ardour and curiosity — active — habituated to
a life of wandering and emergency — restless, courageous, and impro-
vident. He relied on his own resources; and, if they failed, could
trust to chance itself. He was -fearless of hardship and fatigue, and
full of that peculiar curiosity that feeds on new locality, and prompts
to change of place. It is also in a high degree probable that these
dispositions would acquire added excitement from the varied inter-
course of a foreign university, then the resort of every country. With
such a spirit, it can easily be felt how strongly the wandering craze
might seize upon the mind of a poet, ardent of itself to wander and
explore. " He possessed," writes Mr Prior, " an ardent curiosity, a
buoyant spirit, and a constitutional inclination rather to look at the
bright than the dark side of the prospect; — a disposition in some
degree national, for it is a well-known and avowed peculiarity of the
lower orders of his countrymen, to put as large a share of their faith
in chance as in conduct, in much of the business of life. Reliance
was no doubt placed upon his own iagenuity, his learning, and medi-
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 181
cal knowledge: he was young [in his 26th year]; his frame, though
short in stature, vigorous and accustomed to fatiguing exercises," £c.
To these considerations, it is justly remarked by Mr Prior that there
was an interest attached to such a tour as that meditated by Gold-
smith, which has since ceased, from the number who have travelled
similarly " on foot through Flanders, France, Switzerland, arid parts
of Germany, at a trifling expense."
Connected with these considerations, a very curious fact is noticed
by Mr Prior, which it will here be enough to advert to. It is evident,
from an outline given by Goldsmith of the life of the baron Holberg,
who had died a little before, that he was in some measure stimulated
by his example, and that he took him for the model of his wanderings
— as, in fact, the description which he gives of him is precisely that
of his own habits.*
Thus disposed and prepared, his only care was to raise some means
towards the expenses of his journey. He was indebted to the gene-
rosity of Dr Ellis; but the kindness of his friend was frustrated by
the indiscreet good-nature o£ his own disposition. Wandering into
some horticultural mart, where flowers of the most costly sorts were
displayed for sale, he immediately recollected the taste of his uncle,
Contarine, for flowers, and laid out a considerable sum upon flower-
roots, as a gift for him.
Of the incidents of his travels there is no satisfactory account. He
kept no record. Mr Prior mentions some letters, supposed to be yet
extant, which he endeavoured with much pains to trace, but unsuccess-
fully. Occasional anecdotes in his writings may, without much risk,
be referred to the period of his travels. General recollections only
remain from the statements which he made either by letter or in con-
versation. On such authority, it is mentioned that he travelled with-
out money; that he made his way by his music, and by the hospitality
of the peasantry. An extract from the Vicar of Wakefield has, we
believe (at least within our own experience), been always regarded as
descriptive of himself. " I had some knowledge of music, with a
tolerable voice, and now turned what was my amusement into a pre-
sent means of subsistence. I passed among the harmless peasants of
Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough to be
very merry — for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to their
wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house at nightfall, I played
one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me, not only a lodging,
but subsistence for the next day." The only difficulty in applying this
to its author, is slight. Some doubt is suggested by a consideration
of intrinsic improbability: his skill in music was rude, and confined
to the most common airs of Ireland and the sister countries; and,
generally, the excitement derived from music depends much on pre-
vious familiarity. But, not to say that he may have made numerous
acquisitions during his residence in Leyden, and even on his travels,'
it may be that a quick and vivacious peasantry would be excited by
even the sound of music, if but the time were tolerably marked — a
common quality of the music best known to the lower orders in
* Sec his Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning.
182 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
every country. The general results of his observation, and doubtless
much of the incident, is embodied in his poem " The Traveller."
Some scattered accounts remain in his works of his adventures in
Paris, \vhere he obtained introductions to some of the most distin-
guished authors of the time. Among others, he made an acquaint-
ance with Voltaire, by whom he was invited and entertained, and of
whom he has left an interesting notice in his works. From Paris he
again set out upon an excursion to Switzerland, with a gentleman to
whom he was introduced. On this occasion he remained for some
time in Germany, of which he gives some curious accounts in his
Essay on Polite Literature. It was during this journey that he con-
ceived the idea of " The Traveller;" of which the first rude sketch was
transmitted to his brother from Switzerland. It may, indeed, be con-
sidered as an epistle which was, in the first intent, addressed to one
whom he recollected with the gratitude and affection so deeply fixed in
his disposition, and with whose memory so much of the most cherished
associations of his life were associated. We dwell on so trifling a
consideration, because it gives added point to the most graceful, tender,
and refined address which we can recollect either in prose or verse,
which, for this reason, familiar as it is to every one, we extract here.
" Remote, unfriended, solitary, slow, —
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po, —
Or onward, where the rude Carinthiaii boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts his door ;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies ;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravelled, fondly turns to thee ;
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints atteml ;
Bless'd be that spot where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil and trim the evening fire ;
Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair ;
Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown 'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.
But me, not destined such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care ;
Impell'd with steps unceasing to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with tho view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the earth my own."
Nothing can be more exquisitely characteristic than the splendid
and expansive picture in which he follows up this sketch of a desolate
PERIOD.] OLIVKIt GOLDSMITH. 183
condition, and represents himself on the " Alpine solitude," surveying
a vast and varied scene of divine bounty and human happiness, and
exulting in the blessings of others.
It is not necessary, in our stinted space, to follow out details which
are enough to fill the two ample volumes of Mr Prior. It will be
enough to state that, having remained for some time at Geneva, he
went on to Italy; where, having (we presume) better resources, he
saw more, and looked with "attentive and diligent curiosity into the
general state of learning and manners. His faculty of intelligent
observation is strongly marked in all that he has written on the varied
objects of notice. But nothing, perhaps, more strongly illustrates the
profound sagacity which was exercised on all that came before him, by
this self-heedless and simple-minded being, than his sagacious obser-
vations on the still minute indications of the changes which were slowly
coming upon the spirit of the French. " He appears," writes Mr
Prior, " to have clearly observed the slow and almost silent operation
of a new and formidable principle, at that time taking root in the
public mind of France." This remark he verifies by the following
quotation from Goldsmith: — "As the Swedes are making concealed
approaches to despotism, the French, on the other hand, are imper-
ceptibly vindicating themselves into freedom. When I consider that
these parliaments, the members of which are all created by the court,
(the presidents of which can only act by immediate direction,) presume
even to mention privileges and freedom, who, till of late, received
directions from the throne with implicit humility; when this is consi-
dered, I cannot help fancying that the genius of freedom has entered
the kingdom in disguise. If they hare but three weak monarchs suc-
cessively on the throne, the mask will be laid aside, and the country
will once more be free." Mr Prior observes in a note, the community
of sentiment on this topic between Goldsmith and Burke ; but assigns
to Goldsmith a priority in time.
In 1756, he arrived in England. About his first attempts to obtain
the means of living, there are numerous reports and traditions, but
nothing ascertained. His own narratives of fictitious adventures
have, with great probability, been applied to himself in this, as in other
parts of his earlier life. We must here keep to what is known, or
assumed for truth. His first ascertained effort was to turn his classi-
cal attainments to account. He failed, from being unknown, and, we
think, from having taken injudicious steps to remedy this disadvantage.
It is conjectured that he actually, at this time, obtained a situation
as usher in an obscure school in Yorkshire; but soon left it, and
returned to London. He then, with somewhat more success, endea-
voured to avail himself of his chemical knowledge. Fortunately he
discovered that Dr Sleigh, his old fellow-student in Edinburgh, was
in town ; and, having called upon him, was received with friendship,
and his present wants relieved. By the exertions of this kind friend,
he was enabled to establish himself as a physician in Bankside,
South wark.
It was about the same time that he became acquainted with Rich-
ardson, and, there is reason to believe, was employed for a while as a
reader in his printing-office. Other traces of him have been obtained
184 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFIH
from the recollections oT acquaintances who at this time met him in
town. With JDr Farr, he came to breakfast, and submitted to his
criticism a part of a tragedy which he was engaged in writing, but
which his better judgment probably found reason to throw aside. Mr
Prior, in commenting upon this incident, notices it as an instance of
the " frequent practice of young poets to start in the race for public
applause with tragedy ; adventuring thus, in their literary nonage, upon
an effort which experience and the most cultivated powers only can
hope to render worthy of general approbation." We quote this remark
to observe, that the instance is an example of the universal tendency
of the consciousness of power in the young, and of the natural ambi-
tion by which it is accompanied. As for the error upon the compara-
tive difficulty of tragedy and comedy, we concur in Mr Prior's judg-
ment; but on this, too, we must notice the reason of the error, and its
probable solution. The main powers employed on these two branches
of the drama are different: and those which belong to tragedy are the
earliest developed, as they mainly consist in the natural powers of the
mind; while comedy depends more exclusively on that kind of know-
ledge which comes with maturity alone. Though requiring less of
every mental power than tragedy, comedy demands materials which,
in a raw and immature mind, have scarcely any existence; while there
is a full growth of all the loftier capabilities, the sentiment, passion,
and poetry, required for the deeper drama. The powers essential
for tragedy are far more general, and for this reason there are more
numerous individuals capable of attaining mediocrity; while a far
higher degree of intellect is required to pass the average level, and,
therefore, high success is more rare. Observing that in this com-
parison is omitted all consideration of the common properties of both
branches, it may be concluded that, considered thus apart, tragedy
demands a loftier command of the ideal — a broader range of concep-
tion, and deeper philosophy, and is more within the province of crea-
tive invention; while the comic drama is more the work of skill, and
less the work of genius. The question of comparative difficulty, escapes
the proper points of comparison. Each demands special gifts which no
skill can attain, and offers difficulties which a thousand years of the
ordinary mediocrity of authors could not overcome.
Goldsmith was utterly unfitted to succeed as a physician: he wanted
tact, discretion, self-possession, and address (the result of these). His
appearance was against him ; and he wanted the means which might
compensate, by dress and the other specious externals which win, or
compel the respect of the world. Strange and comic incidents must
have occurred, and mortifications been felt. That he was unprosper-
ous is beyond question.
About the end of the year 1756, it was proposed to him to under-
take, for a time, the superintendence of the school of Dr John Milner,
at Peckham in Surrey, during the illness of this gentleman. He con-
sented; and continued there for a period not precisely ascertained.
There remains, however, a very characteristic account of his general
manner and deportment, his good stories, singular good-nature, and
improvident generosity, which led Mrs Milner on one occasion to tell
him : " You had better, Mr G., let me take care of your money, as I
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 185
do for some of the young gentlemen ;" to which he replied, " In truth,
madam, there is equal need."
At the table of Dr Milner, he became acquainted with Dr Griffiths,
at the time a bookseller in the Row, and the projector of the Monthly
Review. The result was an engagement, by the terms of which, he
was to live for a year with the bookseller, at a regular salary. This
compact was, by mutual consent, dissolved in five months. Goldsmith
found the drudgery more severe than he had anticipated, having been
compelled to scribble daily from nine till two, and often the whole
day. This is, indeed, one of the sad illusions to which young persons,
who have a strong turn for literary pursuits, are liable. The exertion
of the talents they actually possess, and the attraction of studies con-
genial to their taste, form the first great allurement, in their concep-
tion of authorship. Having, however, committed themselves fully,
they soon, but not soon enough, discover that, to work to any purpose,
they must, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, be satisfied to work
out the plans of the bookseller, and delve the clay or break the stones
on the low regions about the foot of Parnassus, which they will find
to be as hard and untasteful as any other clay and stones which it
might be their better luck to work upon. To complain, would in-
deed be childish — for, not to say that most persons, who possess intel-
lectual power, commence by over-rating it, the journey-work of litera-
ture alone gives profitable scope for the employment of moderate
attainment and talent. It is only to be regretted, where rare abilities,
adequate to the composition of such poems as " The Traveller," are
condemned for life to the factory- work of the trade. This was,
unhappily, the fate of Goldsmith. His first acquaintance with
the trade was the more irksome and galling, as his obscurity made
him liable to the insolence of dictation and ignorant interference.
Not only Mr Griffiths, but his wife, impaired his articles by their
tasteless and ignorant interpolations. The articles written by him for
the Monthly Review long continued un traced to their author: at
length Mr Griffiths' private copy fell, by the course of sale, into the
hands of a gentleman, from whose liberality, by the intervention of a
friend, Mr Prior was enabled to ascertain the exact extent and matter
of Goldsmith's labours.
When he left Mr Griffiths, he " made a shift to live," by joining the
literary with the medical profession. As a physician, he had no
chance; but, as a writer, he could not fail to make his way: and,
though his productions were but hasty and little considered efforts
for daily subsistence, he was rapidly rising into notice. Much inter-
esting matter, relative to his writings and acquaintance, which has
been diligently brought together by Mr Prior, must here be omitted.
During this interval, he lived near Salisbury square, Fleet street:
but his chief resort was the Temple Exchange coffee-house, where, as
was usual among the literary men of the day, he met his acquaint-
ances, and sought the relaxation of his idle hours.
It was in the year 1757 that he received an unexpected visit from
his younger brother, Charles Goldsmith, then only twenty-one. With
the simplicity of his race, Charles had rashly concluded that, as his
brother was beginning to be known to eminent persons, he might have it
186 LITERARY SERIES. • [FIFTH
in his power to obtain something for himself. He was disappointed
to find him living three pair of stairs up, and without any marks of
wealth or comfort about him. Goldsmith, in his turn, felt the disad-
vantage and distress of having another to support, while himself not
much above want. He did not, however, fail in all the kindness that
his generous and affectionate nature could command; but Charles,
seeing how matters really stood, went off as suddenly as he had come.
With the same wandering spirit as Oliver, he went off to Jamaica,
and did not return to England for thirty years, during which time ho
was unheard of.
In or about this period, Goldsmith obtained an appointment as phy-
sician to a factory in some of the colonies. During the delays which
occurred in maturing the appointment and making preparations, he ap-
pears to have continued in a state of anxious deliberation, between his
desire for independence and his reluctance to quit a scene where the
hopes of success were beginning to dawn upon his efforts. Among tho
steps to which, during this interval, he was urged by the anxious state of
his mind, was an effort to obtain some less unpleasant appointment of
the same description. With this view, he presented himself at au
examination in Surgeons' Hall, where, to his great mortification, he
was rejected. The consequence of this was, his being compelled to
abandon the appointment he had attained. In the meantime, he had
been, at all the intervals he could command, preparing for publication
his " Essay on the Polite Literature of Europe." He justly considered
that something more deliberate and finished than the task- work of the
periodical press was wanting to establish his reputation, and give u
standard value in the market to his writings. On this occasion, his
wish to obtain a subscription in Ireland led to many letters, some of
which have been happily collected and preserved by the laudable zeal of
Mr Prior — a service the more important, as there is reason to believe
that they could not, in the form of mouldering MS., have outlived
another generation. The perusal of these letters, admirable for their
style, but far more so for the deep insight they give into the affections
and spirit of the writer, leave indeed nothing to be desired in this
last respect. A deeper and broader range of thought might easily be
found in many published letters, and a more keen and polished play of
fancy; but never a more pure and true expression of the pride and
tenderness of our nature. It is, perhaps, a fancy; but there is often in
Goldsmith's poetry and letters a singular common power of bringing
up the writer's self to the eye and breast of the reader, in the same
way that many writers convey graphic touches of locality. There is a
peculiar reality in those unstudied and artless, yet powerful flashes of
feeling, which come by surprise, and for a moment seem to recall the
past or absent: they are, throughout his writings, but more especially
his poetic writings, charged with some undefined attraction, not
found in other writers, that identifies the reader with the poet, and
seems to convey the heart and imagination into the localities he
describes or alludes to.
Of the letters here adverted to, it was the object to prevent tho
surreptitious publication in Dublin of his forthcoming book, by ob-
taining a subscription for it there himself, through the medium of
.PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 187
those friends to whom he wrote, and to whom his proposals were for-
warded for circulation.
While this work was still on the eve of publication, Goldsmith had,
by his excessive improvidence, placed himself in a position of the
most extreme pecuniary embarrassment; and, in the thoughtless indis-
cretion of his nature, entangled himself in necessities not to be read
or written of without pain and mortification. As the relation would be
Jong-, and as the effects were happily but transient, it will be here
enough to say that, to meet the expenses of the trial he proposed to
make in Surgeons' Hall, he drew on the purse and credit of Griffiths
more largely than he could repay. Having made to this person some
representations of an expectancy, the disappointment of which he
was too proud and sore to explain, he evidently must have appeared
to have had recourse to false pretences. Such was the inference of
Griffiths, who accordingly treated him, on the occasion, with all
the insolence of his nature. This affair ended by a total alienation
between him and Griffiths, whose advances were repaid by a Life
of Voltaire, hastily written for the purpose, and sold for twenty
guineas. A Version of the Henriade followed; and was, like the
former, published in the Monthly Review. This version is, however,
supposed to have merely been revised and corrected by Goldsmith,
for the benefit of a needy author, whom he endeavoured to keep
from want, at a time when he had much to do to live himself. This
leads us to dwell briefly on a beautiful trait of Goldsmith's character,
which, however, can only be done justice to in a more detailed bio-
graphy. His benevolence was the master-passion of his mind — a com-
mon virtue, but, of all others, the most rarely to be met pure from
the adulterations of the world; and still, perhaps, more rarely, the
ruling tendency of the heart. In Goldsmith it actually usurped much
of the legitimate province of self-love : it also interfered with discre-
tion and prudence. It was not merely that he totally forgot himself,
in his regard for others; but he did not, until after years of experi-
ence, perceive how little the sentiment could be understood, respected,
or shared in by the generality of people. Little governed by selfish
wisdom, and utterly unable to look unmoved on the sufferings of
others, his hard-won and penurious resources were lavishly bestowed
on the poor, or became an easy prey to the artful, with both of whom
his poverty brought him into too near vicinity. For the numerous inci-
dents which have suggested these reflections, we must refer to Mr
Prior's Memoirs, in which no accessible fact is omitted ; or to his own
writings, in which the whole heart of the author is so lucidly reflected,
that to know them is to be more intimate with Goldsmith than most
men are with their nearest friends.
It is not necessary, in a memoir designed to be short, that we
should trace his progress to reputation. Chiefly obtained by great
and talented efforts in the obscure walk of the periodical press of his
day, it required the most signal uniformity of excellence and success
to enable his employers to appreciate his ability at its just value. But
the time came when his essays became the main support of the maga-
zines and journals in which they appeared, too evidently to admit of
the fact being overlooked. Still less was it possible for those who
188 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
themselves filled the highest places of intellectual rank, not to be
aware that there had arisen among them a writer of the most eminent
genius. In 1760, and the following year, his writings are shown to
have been obtaining popularity — a connection with Mr Newbery
brought him into a succession of engagements both profitable and
creditable; and the success of his Essay had introduced him to the
literary world. For the next following years, the same series of en-
gagements proceeded without material interruption, and with increas-
ing reputation; though, from the letters which he wrote to Mr New-
bery (to be seen in Mr Prior's memoir), it is plain that he was very
inadequately paid. He was also employed by Smollet, in the British
Magazine.
His acquaintance with Dr Johnson originated in mutual respect
and high estimation, before any personal acquaintance. An invitation
from Dr Goldsmith first introduced them to each other. Every one
who has read Boswell's Life of Johnson is aware how intimate their
intercourse continued, until ended by Goldsmith's death. We ought
here to observe, that it is mainly owing to the misrepresentation which
pervades that otherwise singularly faithful biography, that the charac-
ter of Goldsmith was defrauded of its proper respect in the estimate
of after-times. We cannot doubt that, in Boswell's notices of Gold-
smith, there entered much invidious feeling, arising from two causes,
distinct, though combined in their operation. Incapable of adequately
appreciating the genius of Goldsmith, Boswell was a keen and shrewd,
though not very deep, observer of externals : he saw the real defects
of Goldsmith, and he saw no farther. He looked down upon a man
who was immeasurably his superior, and resented the claims and
the allowances which he did not really comprehend. His accounts of
Goldsmith are uniformly tinged with this jealousy and this misappre-
hension: the objection to them is not that they are not true, in point
of fact, but that they are partial and one-sided recollections. Boswell
cannot be fairly blamed for the error of his understanding; and, if
this error were to be admitted, the feeling may be forgiven — few can
bear the pretensions of mediocrity. But the consequence is to be much
regretted, by which a writer, who stands among the three or four who
were the first of their generation, should be only recollected by those
weaknesses which were simply personal, and should have been for-
gotten when they were past, and when nothing but that which is im-
mortal should survive. We dwell on these considerations at seem-
ingly disproportionate length,, because we cannot help thinking that
the popularity of Goldsmith's writings has been impaired by the
notion thus propagated of himself. Few will trouble themselves to
look into the writings of the Goldy who struts and blunders in the
page of Boswell.
The purchase of literary fame, when wrung from the obscure toil
of writing for the trade, is perhaps the severest incidental to human
pursuit; and never more so than in the instance of Goldsmith. The
hapless drudgery of catering for the superficial and idle taste of the
crowd, or for the dull wants of the public intellect, may be a gainful
trade, and may even offer an easy road to reputation for many; but
to the spirit overflowing with thought, and buoyant with the vivid
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 189
life of genius, it cannot fail to be a painful captivity, as well as
a hard labour. For it would be a great mistake to assume that
the toil of shallow thought, and the compilation of trite matter,
is less laborious than the deepest speculation or the highest imagin-
ing. The labour is, indeed, woefully increased by the want of
interest, and absence of the spontaneous power which ever accom-
panies the loftier efforts of thought. About the period at which
we must now suppose ourselves arrived in Goldsmith's life, his
health began to be shaken by the gloomy labours which brought so
little remuneration. However animated in society, he had been
taught, by long communion with adversity, to reflect intensely when
alone. He became subject to attacks of illness; and a "painful dis-
ease" is said to have been the effect of continual drudgery at his desk.
His circumstances were, however, in other respects improved; and he
had recourse to occasional excursions to different places of public
resort, of which, we are told that his favourites were Bath and Tun-
bridge. From the same cause, he removed to Islington in the close of
1762, where he boarded with a Mrs Fleming*. Mr Newbery, his great
publisher, resided in this neighbourhood, which was an additional in-
ducement, as this gentleman was always ready to advance such sums
as his expenses required. He paid fifty pounds a-year for his board,
which is observed by Mr Prior to be equivalent to a hundred at the
present. Here he continued till 1764. He was evidently treated with
great respect and kindness by his hostess, who was accustomed to make
no charge for dinners given to his visiters.
During the same interval, his literary projects were numerous.
Among these was a biographical work, for the execution of which he
entered into an agreement with Dodsley. This agreement is now
extant, as a literary relic, in the hands of Mr Rogers. The title of
the projected book was, " A Chronological History of the Lives of
Eminent Persons in Great Britain and Ireland." He was to receive
three guineas a sheet, and to complete the work within two years.
The difficulties of the task are apparent enough, but we think them
hardly sufficient to compel the abandonment of such an undertaking.
A natural history, by Dr Brooke, received important additions from
his pen; in testimony of which, his receipt for eleven guineas from
Mr Newbery is preserved. The labours of his pen seem to have been
heavy; and (we would say) the payment far from adequate. It is
evident, from the several receipts preserved by Mr Prior, that his
expenditure was always in advance of his earnings, and his name on
the wrong side of his publisher's books. To illustrate these statements,
we must be content to extract one of the many documents contained
in the Memoir of Mr Prior.
Brooke's History, . . ,
Preface to Universal History,
Preface to Rhetoric, ,
Preface to Chronicle,
History of England,
The Life of Christ,
The Life (Lives) of the Fathers,
Critical and Monthly,
£63 0 0
100 LITERARY SERIES. [FiFTII
It is needless to say that so much work would be paid at a far higher
rate, to a writer of Goldsmith's reputation, in later times. Circum-
stances have, indeed, greatly changed. The profits upon successful
composition are now largely increased, by the enormous consumption
of the literary market. And very many influential causes of less weight
may be added on the same side. This is one of the questions which
we shall have to discuss in its proper place.
Goldsmith's acquaintance with Reynolds was formed about this
period, and was one of the fortunate incidents of his life. It had the
effect of fairly introducing him to his proper place in the scale of
opinion, which is regulated by seemingly slight circumstances. Rey-
nolds, a man of genius himself; of still more extensive taste; exempt,
by the success and the nature of his pursuits, and perhaps by that of bis
mind, from the petty jealousy and irividiousness of literary competition ;
and having, in consequence, the freest intercourse with every class of
cultivated society: linked by taste and talent with the gifted, and by
the influence of his most popular and delightful of the arts, with wealth
iind rank, he was happily placed for the cultivation of social intercourse
in all its more attractive aspects. He was also eminently endowed
with that rare discernment which can apprehend the genuine indica-
tions of the character before the stamp of success has left no room for
the exercise of penetration. Wealth, the reward of signal genius, and
an open and liberal hospitality, completed the position of one who,
without being the most gifted or greatest in his circle, was mainly
instrumental to the union of the best and brightest minds of his day.
With Burke and Johnson he had formed an intimate friendship, early
after their introductions to notice. With the same happy tact, he saw
the brilliant powers of Goldsmith. Neither the poet's anxious and irri-
table pride, the result of the circumstances and accidents of his condition,
nor the nervous precipitation which sometimes placed him in an absurd
position, nor the simplicity which, if unaffected by these disadvantages,
would have been an admired virtue, prevented men of the highest order
of mind from rightly appreciating Goldsmith from their first acquaint-
ance with him. He was warmly and affectionately taken up by Rey-
nolds, at whose table he was initiated in the best intellectual society
which his age produced. It would be unimportant to dwell on this
'circumstance, were it not for the injustice which has been already re-
marked, and which, originating in the envy and insensibility of one man,
has been perpetuated by the invidious notices he has left. But, in
the early and discerning regard of such men as Reynolds and Johnson,
there is an ample reply to any misconstruction, founded either on the
ignorant slight of Boswell, or upon the anecdotes, true or false, which
are told of the subject of this memoir. The fact which gives a stamp
to the assertion that the- ordinary, character and conversation of Gold-
smith were such as to elicit admiration and regard, is one which, when
fairly looked at, admits no doubt: he' might have been tolerated as a
fool of genius, or an "inspired idiot,"[as he was called by some unin-
spired coxcomb ; but it is utterly inconsistent with the known laws of
human action, that any such fool should have been selected, by men
like Reynolds, Johnson, and Burke, to-be one of a small exclusive circle.
That the Literary Club was almost immediately open to many who can-
PEIUOD.J OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 191
not be said to have had any claim to similar distinction, is no objection
to the inference thus suggested; it depends on the first intent. All
that followed is nothing but what may be explained, and might have
been anticipated, on the common principles of human intercourse. The
distinguished men who formed the nucleus of that celebrated body,
had each his own circle of friends in which he was accessible to influ-
ence, and open to solicitation. Few men of the world are ignorant of
the intrigues by which cunning undermines its way to the distinctions
which are supposed to be the reward of talent.
In December, 1 764 (by Mr Prior's correction of the date), " The
Traveller" was published. Its success, though not equal to the expecta-
tion of his friends, or to the transcendent merit of the piece, was very
great, and decisive as to the literary station of the author. We defer any
critical notice to the end of this memoir. The pecuniary remuneration
was as much as he had, at the time, reason to expect, from the state of
literature, and the ordinary principles of trade, but bore no proportion
to the intrinsic worth of the production. It was, in truth, only among
the higher class of educated minds that taste had yet made a remote
approach to any classical standard; though the literature of England
had long attained a high, perhaps its highest, pitch of excellence. All
that criticism then could do was done, to inform the public mind upon
the merits of " The Traveller;" and among the literary and reading-
circles, its progress was sufficiently rapid. Dr Johnson made all the
efforts of friendly notice, through the press and in conversation, to
bring it forward; and, among other methods, adopted the effectual
means of reading it out among his acquaintances. It was also attacked
by the malice or folly of a few. To those who judge by faults, they
must always be easily found in all that is of human production. But
there is one source of accusation which cannot fail — plagiarism, which
must ever be the seeming defect of every thought or form of expres-
sion, in proportion as it approaches nearer to the most pure and natural
standard of either. It is indeed a subject liable to perpetual error,
and in need of some strict law of discrimination. In the common
course of conversation, or the ordinary topics of human thought, the
same thoughts and modes of expression are continually recurring, and
the same suggestions arising from similar incidents. Neither these,
nor the probable combinations of the mind, or the powers of expression,
are so very various and infinite as to admit of any considerable variety ;
and the daily repetitions in every quarter of the world, are only not
considered, because they are not heard by any one individual. Now, it
may at once be granted that there are classes of writers who may escape
the consequence of this condition: there are the countless adepts of the
modern lyre, who indulge in the boundless variety of small nonsense;
and the mightier few, who play the same fashionable instrument on the
broader scale of transcendentalism and metaphysical speculation. We
may also add a more favourable exception for those who, like Mr
Southey, have availed themselves of some new and foreign atmosphere
of poetry, completely removed from the haunts of life and nature — as
in his splendid and wonderful creations from the oriental tradition?!
arid mythologies. But, among those who have worked poetry out
of the old alements of civilized human nature, it is a mistake to look
192 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTII
for the species of originality imagined by the shallow criticism so
often provokingly misapplied to our best poets. The error involved
is a total disregard of the laws of suggestion and combination, and of
the limited materials and impulses of human thought. What may
legitimately be demanded is, that the whole combination is originated
by the poet, and that the several thoughts and expressions are the
natural suggestions arising from that whole in natural succession. So
far regards the charge of plagiarism, strictly considered. We are
willing to admit, in truth, that something more than the mere absti-
nence from this disgusting vice is properly required by the rule of
composition; and that accidental coincidences, when they pass a not
very wide limit, should be corrected and pruned away. But this point
we are not obliged to discuss. We may, however, add, what every
poet knows, and what they who are not poetical may consider curious,
that one of the most frequent annoyances to which they are subject is
the occasional discovery that they have fallen into trains of thought
and expression belonging to previous writers of whom they were at
the time wholly unaware. And it ought to be added, that there is a
very large and varied range of common property in the fields of
knowledge and opinion; and there is not an inference to be fairly
gained without treading through some part of this. The originality
of many is due to their looseness of reason ; and, in the popular poetry
of the present day, it would not be hard to find specimens of sound-
ing eloquence which, if translated into the language of plain prose,
might not be much wronged by the scornful epithet of " slipslop."
Among the friends supposed to have been at this time acquired by
Goldsmith, in consequence of this poem, was " Mr Robert Nugent,
afterwards lord Nugent, viscount Clare, and earl Nugent," a de-
scendant from the Nugents of Westmeath. By this nobleman he waa
probably introduced to the earl of Northumberland ; who having in-
timated a desire to see him, Goldsmith waited upon his lordship. The
incidents of this visit have been made the subject of a ludicrous piece
of slander, in which one of the fictions of the poet was turned against
himself: but the actual occurrence has been ascertained from the nar-
rative of Sir %Tohn Hawkins, who happened to meet him at the earl's
on the occasion. Having waited to take Goldsmith home, he ob-
tained from him the following account: — "His lordship told me he
had read my poem, and was much delighted with it; that he was
going lord-lieutenant to Ireland; and that, hearing I was a native of
that country, he should be glad to do me any kindness." Sir John
then asked, "And what did you answer to this gracious offer?"
" Why," said Goldsmith, " I could say nothing but that I had a
brother there, a clergyman, who stood in need of help." Having
mentioned this answer, he added: "As for myself, I have no depend-
ence on the promises of great men: I look to the booksellers for sup-
port; they are my best friends, and I am not inclined to forsake them
for others." The answer exposed him to an injurious comment from
the reporter; but we trust the reader will see the higher qualities
indicated in the statement — the generous affection that preferred his
brother, and the native and simple independence of his mind. There
was not in his deportment anything of the foolhardy sturdiness which
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 193
Sir John would impress — he would not have repelled real and sub-
stantial friendship — but he would not be trammelled by a promise
which there was reason to suspect might be designed to purchase his
political support. He did not desire to incur a debt of gratitude for
future favours, but what he said amounted to a clear intimation of the
way he would be served. His reply was just what it ought to be, and
only to be mistaken by the crawling sycophancy of those who flatter
in the presence of the great. But it is in the comment, which Sir John
has so stated as to make it seem part of the answer to the peer, but
which was made to himself, that a little touch of the simplicity and
vanity of the poet's weaknesses appear. Goldsmith wished naturally
to magnify his profession, and did not fully comprehend the sly malignity
of Hawkins, who seemed to be at the moment doing him a courtesy.
Goldsmith, so far from having manifested any of the boorish (and
indeed mean) rudeness insinuated, went away in a kind and gracious
understanding with the earl, and was from that time on terms of
intimacy in his family. The popular ballad of " The Hermit" was
first composed and printed for the amusement of the countess. When
this was afterwards published, a low writer, now too obscure to be
named, publicly accused him of a plagiary from Dr Percy's Reliques;
it was, however, stated, in a public letter by Goldsmith, that his ballad
had been prior, and had been communicated to Dr Percy, who had
taken and acknowledged the hint from it. Another source was
pointed out afterwards, discovered as common to both, by some of the
bishop's commentators ; but, on examination, it appears utterly without
ground.
Goldsmith still felt a strong impulse to the undertaking of some
great work answerable to his powers, and to the reputation he had
acquired. The difficulty of this was formidable. It is well pointed
out in the following instructive passage from Mr Prior: — "It is on
such occasions that the disadvantages of a professional author, destitute
of fixed means of support, are most acutely felt; with his eye eagerly
fixed on immortality, and with powers of an order capable of obtain-
ing it, he may be doomed to experience, while toiling for fame, the
want of daily bread." A volume of Essays which had been till then
unproductive, was now compiled, to take advantage of the gale of
public favour, and was published in June, 1765. For this he received
twenty guineas — a fair price for the time, if it be considered that he
had been already paid for its contents, as matter for the periodicals.
It was suggested by Godwin to Mr Prior, that Goldsmith was pro-
bably the author of " Goody Two Shoes," as it appeared to him to
exhibit the skill "of a practised writer of no inferior order." Mi-
Prior, by following out this curious proposal, seems to have ascer-
tained coincidences of date and circumstance which give much pro-
bability to the sagacious hint of his friend.
Among other resources at the same period resorted to, to turn his
reputation to advantage, and improve his means, was one adopted by
the advice of his friends, and, as we see it, extremely injudicious. He
suffered himself to be persuaded to try the success of his profession
of physic. He set out on this chimerical project by assuming the dress
then worn by physicians — purple silk breeches and scarlet roquelaurc
VOL. VI, N
194 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTlI
— and, as lias been ascertained from the evidence of tailors' bills,
putting himself to other expenses for fineries which he at once carried
to extreme, and which ill became his plain person and ungraceful
deportment. The result was unsatisfactory. Some amusing details
are preserved, but we must omit them.
Compilations, commentaries, and prefaces for the trade, were still
found his best resources. But the "Vicar of Wakefield" now appear-
ing, made a more effective, because a wider and more popular, impres-
sion than often has happened before his time, even to works of sterling
power. Contrary to the then established precedent for works of the
same class, it enlisted the sympathies on the side of honour, virtue,
and religion, instead of libertinism and vice; and produced as much
effect in opposition to the worst tendencies of human nature as Field-
ing and Smollett had produced by their' aid. It has, indeed, (for,
unlike those glittering fabrications of corruption, it may still be
spoken of in the present tense,) an advantage rare to moral fictions,
the well sustained interest of romance ; and may be recommended as a
medicine more palatable than luxury. The consequence was an ad-
mission into every circle, a translation into every language, and a
permanent popularity in every civilized country.
In this production, it is an important duty here to observe, that it
is also an abiding monument of the author's own genuine mind. A
reader who may be even slightly conversant with the habits of the
intellect in which imagination predominates, and the manner in which
it incorporates itself with the phenomena of accident and experience,
and spins its new and peculiar conceptions out of self-existence, will,
in reading, perceive how deeply the whole narrative is infused with
the clear and beautiful spirit of the framer's heart. From the same
rich fountain originated the noble and virtuous sentiments, and even
the venial errors of the better order of his persons. Even those lu-
dicrous incidents which, for obvious reasons, were noticed as incidents
of his own history, are the fruit of that reflex conception which a
man acquires of himself. It has not, perhaps, been observed how
much the power of satire depends on the follies and absurdities of
the satirist.
During this interval, Goldsmith was a resident in the Temple, which,
says Mr Prior, was " a favourite abode then, as it appears, of several
men of letters." Here having, on the appearance of more promising cir-
cumstances, taken more expensive apartments, on which he laid out a
sum of four hundred pounds, he enlarged his entire style of living,
and laid, it is thought, the foundation of those embarrassments which
poisoned his latter years, and perhaps aided the work of disease by
lowering his constitutional health.
We have next to relate the main incidents of his success in another
department of fiction. We omit, in consideration of our limits, the
interesting train of circumstances previous to the appearance of " The
Good-natured Man." It was first offered to Garrick, who evidently
failed to discern its merit, or was more probably actuated by an in-
vidious disposition towards Goldsmith— an inference to which we are
Strongly inclined, from the consideration of all circumstances. One
•who, like Goldsmith, appears to disadvantage in the intercourse of
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 195
society, and at the same time gives plain proofs of high intellectual
superiority, will be judged according to his real powers by first-rate
men, and according- to his defects by the groundlings, who will conse-
quently look with an invidious eye on the pretensions of one whom they
would wish to despise. Garrick, who, with a smart but still diminutive
genius, possessed a singular development of those very endowments in
which Goldsmith was most deficient, and whose fame even rested upon
them, would gladly have kept him in the back-ground. The friend-
ship of men like Reynolds, Johnson, and Burke, made it difficult to
treat him with open slight : but it seemed easy to suppress a comedy
presented for his judgment and adoption. The amiable simplicity of
the author expected justice and friendship, but his piece was kept in
silence, until his temper was irritated by a delay which he must have
felt to be disrespectful. He withdrew it by a very polite note, to
which an answer equally courteous was returned. It was then given
to Covent-Garden; and, after some short delays, was acted in Janu-
ary, 1768. Johnson furnished the prologue for the occasion. The
reception of this comedy was far from equivalent to its real merits,
and one of the best scenes was very near leading to an unfavourable
result. Mr Prior mentions that the taste of the town was grown sen-
timental: a scene, then bold and new in the conception, and replete
with the happiest humour, elicited unfavourable indications, and was
suppressed before the next night of representation. The substantial
merits of the piece were indeed too great to be overlooked, and these,
with the talented exertions of Shuter, in the character of Croaker,
saved it. It had a run of ten nights. It lias never become a stock
piece, and has, we should say, defects of a kind very opposite from
those which offended its first audience. With the most admirable
sketching of humorous caricature, grotesque but true, it offends in
the serious part by an excess of the tawdry sentimentality of spurious
benevolence and innocence in Honey wood, the hero; by a total viola-
tion of the laws of female propriety in the heroine, who lays aside the
modest dignity of her sex, and plays the hero's part to protect and
win the amiable simpleton, who must have led her a sad life after
they were married. Such folly, and such forwardness, can only be
tolerated in the shape of satire; and we cannot help saying that no
sympathy can be felt with the conduct of Miss Richlarid, without
the accompaniment of a bad example.
The profits, though small, must to the author have been far from
inconsiderable. The three nights commonly understood to be allotted
for the remuneration of the author, produced a clear profit rated be-
tween 350 and 400 pounds. The publication of four editions in quick
succession must have brought a large sum.
It is no slight testimony for the intrinsic merits of this piece, that
it received the high preference of Burke and Johnson. And gener-
ally, though the play-going multitude seem to have given it but a
qualified approbation, the critics were on his side. The success of the
play of " False Delicacy," in Drury-lane, was cotemporaneous witli
that of Goldsmith's; and the coincidences of time, plot, sale, the coun-
try of the authors (both Irishmen), led to comparisons ; and an irritat-
ing sense of rivalry soon began to prevail between them. This was
196 LITEIIAHY SERIES. [FlFTH
increased by the gossip of the scribbling swarm that infested the
haunts of literary men ; and of which Goldsmith was but too much the
prey and the dupe.
The period of his life at which we are now arrived demands little
prolonged detail, in a memoir which pretends to be little more than a
brief and summary sketch. The struggles with poverty, prolonged by
imprudence, but in a considerable degree abated by transcendent
genius, still, in some measure, accompanied him. Compelled to main-
tain himself by the journey-work of the trade, he could rarely com-
mand those intervals of leisure from which any great result, commen-
surate with his powers, might be fairly expected. He was, nevertheless,
established in the possession of the high reputation due to justly
appreciated genius ; and as the preference of the market thus secured,
gave a sure money value to the slightest effort of his pen, he was above
the present apprehension of want. His varied engagements with the
booksellers, demand here no special detail. He was now engaged on
that well-known work, his " Animated Nature ;" remarkable for the
attraction which his simple elegance of style has given to subjects,
which the learning, extended research, and increased accuracy of later
times and far more informed writers, have not rendered so popular as
they deserve to be. He was also engaged on an abridgment of his
History of England; perhaps the most deservedly popular book that
ever was written.
The labour of these avocations was pleasantly broken by an exten-
sive intercourse with the best and most attractive society of the age. A
visit to France, with some ladies of the name of Horneck, occurred in the
summer of 1771. This excursion has been productive of at least one
letter of exceeding interest, which is printed in his life by Mr Prior.
Some time after his return, we find by a letter which he wrote to Mr
Bennet Langton, and which is to be found in the same repository, that
he had put off a summer visit to this gentleman in order to repair the
loss of labour consequent on his excursion, and that he was at the time
lodging at the house of a country farmer, and occupied in the composi-
tion of his comedy, " She Stoops to Conquer." " Every soul," he
writes, " is a-visiting about and merry but myself; and that is hard
too, as I have been trying these three months to do something to
make people laugh. Thus have I been strolling about the hedges,
studying jests with a most tragical countenance." This retreat was
"near the six-mile stone on the Edgware Iload; and he finished seve-
ral of the various compilations in which he was engaged at the same
period. Mr Prior, who mentions that he continued to retain this
lodging till his death, gives an account of his own visit to the spot, and
describes the general features and character of the surrounding scenery,
such as to prove the taste of the poet's choice. The son of the person
with whom he lodg-ed was, at that time, about sixteen, and remembered
his person and appearance: from this person some not uninteresting
accounts of his habits were communicated to Mr Prior. These we
cannot omit. " It appears, that though boarding with the family, the
poet had the usual repasts commonly sent to his own apartment,
where his time was chiefly spent in writing. Occasionally he wandered
into the kitchen, took his stand with his back towards the tire, appa-
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 197
rently absorbed in thought, till something seeming to occur to his mind,
he would hurry off to commit it, as they supposed, to paper. Some-
times he strolled about the fields, or was seen loitering and musing
under the hedges, and perusing a book."
" In the house, he usually wore his shirt collar open, in the manner
represented in the portrait by Sir Joshua. Occasionally he read much
at night when in bed; at other times when not disposed to read, and
yet unable to sleep, which was not an unusual occurrence, the candle
was kept burning, his mode of extinguishing which, when out of
immediate reach, was characteristic of his fits of indolence or careless-
ness; he flung his slipper at it, which, in the morning, was in conse-
quence usually found near the overturned candlestick daubed with
grease. No application of a charitable description was ever made to
him in vain; itinerant mendicants he always viewed with compassion,
and never failed to give them relief." We must reluctantly abridge
the rest. He was in this place frequently visited by Johnson and his
other principal town associates, to whom he frequently gave dinners.
.The narrator also mentioned instances of Goldsmith's treats and enter-
tainments to the young people of the house, and of his visits in the
neighbourhood.
In 1772 the "Animated Nature" was completed, and he received
the balance of the price, amounting to £840. At the end of the year
he was anxiously engaged in the arrangements to bring out his comedy.
Considerable difficulties arose, from the managers of the theatres to
whom the piece was submitted; at last Mr Colman, who was unfavour-
ably impressed, was urged by the solicitations of three common friends
to give it a trial. As these delays were considered groundless and
vexatious, and had the injurious consequence of impairing the pros-
pects of success, by curtailing the time, they became a topic of con-
versation, and it is said raised some interest in the town, by which the
conduct of Mr Colman was generally, and not without reason, attri-
buted to the jealousy of rivalship. His strong predictions of the
failure of Goldsmith's play were repeated on every side, and could
hardly fail to operate to its prejudice; they were even repeated
to those who came to engage their seats for the representation, as
more specially appears in the instance of the duke of Gloucester's
servant who had been sent to hire the stage box. Thus it is as evi-
dent as circumstances can render it, that all possible efforts were made
to secure a failure. Some of the players refused their parts, and new
difficulties arose which were overcome by the determination of the
author, roused into firmness by repeated irritation. The prologue was
supplied by Garrick: new difficulties arose about the epilogue: when
these were obviated, mortifications were not wanting in the rehearsal,
where the envy of Colman found a free vent. At last the play came
out on the 15th March. The success was beyond all expectation.
Under all the impediments that malice, armed with skill and opportunity,
could devise — bad actors, dresses, scenery — there was a triumph which
must have retaliated on Colman much of the distress which he had
been the means of inflicting on its author. Only twelve nights
remained free for its representation ; on these it was received with all
the strongest proofs of public favour. Goldsmith received between
198 LITERARY SERIES. [ FIFTH
three and four hundred pounds on the three nights allotted for the
author. The excitement which had been raised among the literary
circles continued to manifest itself variously. Col man escaped from
the storm of squibs in prose and verse, many of which Mr Prior pre-
serves, by leaving town. But the most serious consequence seems to
have fallen upon Goldsmith. A letter, composed in the most bitter
spirit of taunting malice, supposed to be written by Dr Kenrick,
appeared in the " London Packet" of the 24th of March. An Irish
captain, who was a friend of Goldsmith, and who understood but one
way of receiving such an attack, suggested and urged violent pro-
ceedings on the occasion, with such success, that he repaired to the
publisher's, and, without much preface, struck this person with his
cane; a scuffle followed, in which it is supposed the poet came by the
worst. The real author of the offence, who was at the time in the
back parlour, came out and separated the combatants. Concerning
this transaction numerous interesting particulars may be found in Mr
Prior's volumes. The comedy was published with large profit by
Newberry, to whom it was given in lieu of a novel for which the
author had been pledged, but failed to produce.
In the meantime literary projects were not wanting to keep his pen
employed, or to excite his active industry to renewed effort. Among
these, a favourite one, was the plan of a dictionary of arts and sciences,
which it may be regretted, was not carried into execution, as it was de-
signed to contain contributions from Johnson, Burke, Reynolds, Burney,
and Garrick, on the several topics with which they were each most con-
versant. This, whatever may have been its intrinsic value, would have
been inestimable as an object of personal and historic interest. But
the time, expense, and the habits of the projector's own life and char-
acter, offered difficulties formidable in the eye of commercial prudence ;
and the splendid plan fell to the ground. A Grecian history, on the
plan of his other works of the same description, was in the same year
completed and sold to the booksellers. For this he received £250, as
appears from his own receipt, published by Mr Prior.
Notwithstanding the success of his pen, Goldsmith's embarrassments
were accumulating. He was utterly destitute of prudence ; credulously
good natured and compassionate, and consequently the dupe of every
knave, and the prey of his own servants. A look or voice of distress
was enough to torture his sentient weakness; and his entire stock of
cash, when he possessed any, was kept in an open drawer. When
occasional distress compelled him to borrow for his own wants, he was
still ready to relinquish the scanty supply to the imposture of a begging
story. Repeated loans had grown into a debt beyond his industry to
pay— his credit with the trade began to fail — and his labour began to
be sunk in hopeless efforts to repair the past. His spirits gave way
before the prospect of distresses of which the recollections of his own
experience could present the most formidable shadows. Of this sad
interval of depression and despair, some accounts have been preserved
from the writings of one of his most confidential friends (Mr Joseph
Cradock); we have no room for the quotation, but it strongly repre-
sents the hectic of that depression which attends the last consciously
vain struggle with the resistless approach of certain calamity.
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
It was during this season of distress that " Retaliation," the most
felicitous specimen of the class to which it is to he referred, was writ-
ten. It had hecome usual for most of the principal men of letters to
dine together from time to time at St James's Coffee-house. On some
one of these occasions, a question arose as to how Goldsmith might be
mentioned by posterity. The conversation suggested to some one the
notion of an epitaph; and for some time several of those present in-
dulged their wit in specimens of this species of composition, for which
Goldsmith was selected as the butt. Such is, with the highest reason,
thought to have been the origin of Goldsmith's poem. It is, never-
theless, certain that it was not publicly read to the party or at the
club, and that most of the members were ignorant of it till after the
poet's death. From the evidence of a line, its date is assigned to
some time in February, 1774. Mr Prior justly estimates the qualities
indicated by this poem. " A production such as this presents no
ordinary difficulties to the writer, as he requires for its execution
great acuteness and much good nature, keen perception of the
shades of character, and deep insight into the human heart." The
poem, with all its singular merit, was left unfinished. As the spring
advanced, his health and spirits continued to decline; while he en-
deavoured to sustain his spirits by dissipation, and indulged to ex-
travagance in the expenses of pleasure and a profuse hospitality.
Having retreated to the country, he was compelled by a painful disease
to return to town, where his complaint gave way to medical treat-
ment; but it left behind exhaustion on a frame already debilitated,
and a nervous fever soon set in. His death was the result, It has
been ascribed to the rash use of James's powders, taken in defiance of
his medical attendant. His sufferings continued for a week, and it
appears that mental distress had a chief effect in the fatal termination.
When one of his physicians addressed him, " Your pulse is in greater
disorder than it should be from the state of fever which you have ; is
your mind at ease?" He answered, "It is not." He breathed his
last on the 3d of April, 1774, at midnight, in his forty-fifth year. He
was deeply lamented by the best and ablest men of his day, Burke,
Johnson, and Reynolds: men who were capable of knowing what he
was, and who felt what he could be, and might become, had his life
been prolonged and circumstances been favourable.
It was at first designed that he should have a public funeral; but
the embarrassment of his affairs altered the intention. It was esti-
mated that his debts amounted to somewhat near £2,000.
The character of Goldsmith's mind seems to need less than usual
comment. Its features are more broad, simple, and well defined than
often occurs in human history; but it is even from this that some of
the errors have arisen among his numerous critics and biographers.
The conventional maxims of social opinion, formed on average views,
and therefore mostly, though coarsely, just, are. apt to fail in singular
instances: because in all such, principle and the analysis of reason
must be recurred to.
In thinking about Goldsmith, a difficulty of constant recurrence is
the endeavour to reconcile the seemingly strong opposition between the
wisdom of his writings and the extreme simplicity of his deportment
200 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
and manner, and the heedlessness of his conduct. To form a just con-
ception of the character thus seemingly inconsistent with itself, there
is a distinction to be observed, which, though of universal application,
is not, in most instances, absolutely necessary to the estimate of human
character. We mean the distinction between the intellectual and the
moral constitutions of the mind. In the general composition of ordi-
nary men, and in the common conduct of their concerns, the higher
powers of the intellect have no part, and the inferior far less than
might be supposed. The larger part of every man's conduct is governed
by motives and impulses arising from inclination, the sense of interest,
and the passions; and in these, is guided by those nearly unconscious
convictions and perceptions which are ingrafted and impressed by habit.
Whatever may be required over and above these, a very superficial
exertion of independent thinking power can sufficiently effect. The
qualities here described are, with considerable uniformity, engaged
in the pursuit of those interests and objects of desire which mainly
concern the individual, or which appertain to the narrow circle of his
nearest duties and affections. And it is from their continued and
habitual exercise within this restricted compass, that the general pro-
perties of expertness, caution, address, cunning, or prudence, and all
the ordinary manifestations of common sense and ready sagacity, which
is to be observed on common occasions, have their rise. That all
these conditions may be improved by the concurrence of higher
qualities, we are in no way concerned to deny. Nor are we prepared
to assert, that higher attributes of intellect may not in many ways be
improved by the aid of the more general and inferior qualifications.
Our immediate object in laying down the distinction, is to remind our
reader of what must be the result in a case of the possible, though
less usual combination of genius and high sensibility, when to some
considerable extent deprived of those more common, and perhaps
useful, qualities which keep the common way of life. Now, we have
but to follow the well-marked development of Goldsmith's character,
from the earliest stages at which his fullest biographer has traced
it, to find the clearest and simplest illustration of a disposition framed
apart from the common walk of habit, and nurtured in the higher
and less practical regions of fancy, imagination, reflection, and
contemplation. Little, or scarcely at all, affected by the impulses of
calculating selfishness, which is one of the first and most effective
teachers and trainers of youthful reason; while others of equal age
were sharpening their faculties in the shortsighted, yet not less eager
and vigilant commerce of childish pursuits, Goldsmith employed his
faculties in those visionary delights which have never so deep an en-
chantment as that which they exercise on the fresh fancy, which no real-
ity of experience can interrupt. Endowed also with natural benevolence
and tenderness far beyond what is usual, and, consequently, confiding
in the love and kindliness of all the world, it is evident that the ele-
ments of distrust, jealousy, and caution, wanted those ordinary stimu-
lants, which give them their early and effective predominance in the
human character. And thus it was that he grew up and was tossed
from wave to wave — in the unconsciousness of a simple and unworldly
nature— exercising his intellect, and keenly too, but on a different
PERIOD.] OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 201
scale, and under different impulses, from those of the common classes
of men. So far there is no difficulty. But the reader may per-
haps recollect the coarseness and vulgarity of many of his tastes and
habits. We fear to prolong these remarks too far; but a moment's
attention will satisfy any one that there is no essential opposition in
this fact: but, indeed, rather on the contrary, it must be allowed that
the inordinate impulses of those strong animal passions, by which the
early life of our poet may have been led astray, are not among the
causes which lead to habits of prudence or to the improvement of the
perceptions or manners, though, they may eventually be the means of
imparting a very considerable experience of human nature — of its
follies and vices— and this, with all his credulous simplicity, Goldsmith
possessed. The point of distinction here to be observed is this, his
knowledge of man was the result of experience and observation; his
disposition was that of habit, the growth of his nature from childhood ;
his knowledge of man was like book-learning, at the call of reason,
but not an intuition of habit.
In attentively perusing the chief writings of Goldsmith, it will be
observed that, so far as they display views of life and of human char-
acter, much is derived from the experience of his own mind — from
his own virtues and his own errors — and that when the vices of the
basest and most heartless kind are to be delineated, that he displays
no proof of a thorough and internal acquaintance with the darker and
colder corruptions of the human heart. He can with his usual power
describe the actions of bad men, and their results; but he has none of
that sympathy by means of which the inward workings of wickedness
are caught for delineation. The characters of Dr Primrose and of his
son are personated and drawn from within — while Squire Thornhill is
remotely sketched, and no more than a common property of the ma-
chinery of stories. How differently would the same conception be
managed by the pen of Smollet, who would have traced the favourite
scamp with the colours of the heart, and dismissed him to happiness
in the end. Wherever Goldsmith displays a knowledge of the moral
world, it will, with little exception, be found to rise from the same
more wide scope of study and patient observation, rather than from
the commoner and more narrow circle of habitual intercourse. And
it is to the very same fact that we are to ascribe his lively perception
of numerous follies and anomalies which mostly pass unnoticed in the
world, because most persons are too nearly identified with them to be
much struck with their absurdity.
Thus also it may be more easily understood why there is to be found
in his histories a wider and juster view of the larger events of time,
and of their relations and consequences, than might be anticipated
from the personal conduct and character of the writer.
With regard to the poetry of Goldsmith, it would be easy to apply
much of the same reasoning; but for this there is not the same occa-
sion. There is not the same seeming inconsistency to be reconciled;
at least not further than the same suggestions will similarly apply.
But we must not pass the consideration, that much of the peculiar
inimitable tone of both his main poems is due to the same constitution
of mind. The character of both the genius and its produce is the
202 LITERARY SERIES.
same — intense simplicity and singleness. The whole of these thorough-
ly original compositions manifest, with uncommon force, the mind it-
self identified with the language; and this is their peculiar and cha-
racteristic excellence, and the secret of their power. Poets, as poets
generally are, are compelled to step out of self— to throw aside the in-
significance of common life, and their ordinary intercourse of thought
— when they sit down to work out the manufacture of poetry, as mostly
known to readers. Their materials are (evidently) selected, with
more or less address, from a range of familiar common-places, and
elaborately polished and adorned by repeated touches of skill. Gold-
smith felt and thought in verse, and thus expressed the pure native
suggestions as they rose. It is thus that, however he may have cor-
rected and adorned, he had first secured that which no skill can give
— the pure expression which alone can awaken the sympathy of the
breast. This is the real charm of his verse, and it is also the true
reason why no one can be a poet but by nature.
To sum the whole of these reflections, Goldsmith was, in a peculiar
and eminent sense, the opposite of all that is understood by " a man
of the world." He was a poet, a philosopher, a dreamer, a reasoiier,
and a curious contemplator — all that could be compounded from in-
tellect and sensibility : but as singularly deficient in the little arts and
knowing qualities which govern all the smaller commerce of tho
world, and the petty craft they generate.
Among the effects of this temperament, we should notice the very
singular power by which the utmost harmony of verse, and the utmost
refinement and finish of expression, are combined with the utmost
simplicity both of language and conception. No forced turns of either
— no apparently far-sought phrases, or artifices for mere effect, re-
mind the reader of the tricks of composition. All is the spontaneous
product of real conception, no less simple than exquisitely true.
His poetry has found its way to every heart, from the Irish cabin
to the chamber of refinement and luxury, for there is an echo to
nature through the entire compass of humanity. It can be under-
stood by all, and convey the same tenderness, purity, and harmony to
every ear. Poetry may be overlaid by glittering art, disguised by
fantastic philosophy, and degraded by imitations and fabrications — by
triteness, nonsense, and eccentricity; and, in the effort to exalt the
spurious texture of the trade of the hour, be huddled into neglect
amid the confusion of tongues in the Babel of modern literature : but
all this must pass away in no long time, because there is no substan-
tial permanent principle to support it. One flimsy fabrication will be
outshone by others, and the equally shallow fallacies of rationalism
or transcendentalism must be cancelled by new follies, if not by
natural wisdom: truth and nature will never want a place where
there is sound sense, nor, it is to be hoped, fail to bring back the pub-
lic taste to the more true and standard rules of judgment, in which the
" Deserted Village" and " The Traveller" must find their claim to
admiration.
PliUlOD.j .CHARLES MACKLIN. 203
DIED A. D. 1797.
Foil the life of Macklin the materials are abundant, and the interest
of these is also very great. His memoir would comprise the history
of the stage for the more considerable part of the last century. Hud
this occurred at an earlier stage of these volumes, we should have
cheerfully entered upon the details essential to such a review. The
reader is, however, aware of the reasons why such a devotion of our
fast-contracting space is now inexpedient; and we advert to the con-
sideration here, only to avoid the imputation of having underrated
the importance of the materials which we are compelled to refuse.
The following summary is all we can afford.
Charles Maclaughlin was born in 1690, in the county of Wcst-
meath. He was respectably educated, and having a strong propen-
sity to the stage, changed his name to Macklin. He spent some years
among different strolling companies, and about 1725 came to London,
and was engaged in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields theatre. In 1735 he had
the misfortune to kill a brother actor by an unlucky blow given in the
heat of a dispute; for this he was tried and acquitted. In 1741, his
performance of Shylock fixed his character as an actor. For this part,
his naturally harsh and sinister cast of features gave him great advan-
tages. From this time, he was mostly sure of obtaining engagements at
the principal theatres on the most liberal terms, though the caprice of
his temper, much indiscretion, and a projecting disposition, very fre-
quently involved him in difficulties which much neutralized his suc-
cesses, and often threw him out of employment. To the talents of a
first-rate actor he added those of a dramatic writer of very consider-
able merit, and produced several pieces which, however they might
stand the test of criticism, were proofs of very great natural powers.
In 1748, he was, with his wife, engaged by Sheridan for the Dublin
stage, at a salary of £800 a-year, for two years. His extreme cap-
tiousness soon brought this engagement to a premature conclusion.
He became so intolerably irritable and interfering, that he was actu-
ally excluded from the theatre; and, in consequence, had recourse to
law proceedings. The result was a considerable loss, and the ter-
mination of a profitable engagement. He engaged next at Co vent-
garden, and played Mercutio during the winter with a success which
has perplexed criticism to account for, as it was little suited to his
appearance or presumed capabilities.
In 1754, he took a formal leave of the stage, being then in his 64th
year, though still in the full possession of his powers. This step was
occasioned by a speculation which was no less than the scheme of a
coffee-house and tavern in the piazza of Covent-garden, by which he
was to realize a vast fortune in a few years. The principal merits of
the plan on which he relied were cheapness and order; and his arrange-
ments for the purpose were liberal in the extreme, but otherwise not
injudicious. At five o'clock a bell was rung, and dinner was served up,
when the door was shut, and all further guests excluded. Macklin
204 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
X
having himself brought in the first dish, stood at the sideboard with
his waiters, whom some months of previous drilling had accomplished
in the art of attending without noise, according to a system of signs.
The arrangement, it is said, imposed some useful constraint upon the
guests; and, while the concern lasted, there occurred fewer quarrels
than is usual in such places. The provisions for accommodation and
comfort were otherwise ample, and the table was crowded with the
wit and literature of the day.
Combined with this plan, there was another, which, considering its
perfect inappropriateness, or the incapacity of Mackliu himself, was
singularly unfortunate, and adapted to convert the whole concern into
a lamentable farce. The company, thus collected, were to be edified
with critical dissertations on the British drama by Macklin himself.
An undertaking which demanded the utmost learning, refinement of
taste, judgment, and eloquence, was sure to become the butt of ridi-
cule in the hands of one so destitute of all these qualifications, and
only armed with that rash assurance which is so often the result of
presuming ignorance. And such was the result. Macklin made him-
self ridiculous, and exposed himself to the terrible waggery of Foote,
who seized every occasion to draw him into farcical colloquies, in which
Macklin was his easy victim. Meanwhile, an improvident scale of
expense, insufficient attention to economy, and the dishonesty of the
servants to whom he trusted, soon reduced him to ruin, and in 1 755
he was declared bankrupt.
He next joined Barry and Woodward in a new theatre in Dublin,
when they built one in Crow street, in 1757. This partnership lasted
but a short time, during which his wife, an actress of some merit,
died. He returned to England, obtained a lucrative engagement at
Drury Lane, and brought out the farce of " Love a la Mode," the
success of which brought him both money and reputation.
In 1774, some discontents with his acting, and some with his con-
duct, arose, and were fomented into very considerable violence, which,
after lasting for some time, ended in his dismissal from the company.
He went to law, and obtained considerable damages, which he relin-
quished, simply requiring his law expenses, and £200 worth of tickets
to be taken for his daughter's and his own benefit, with £100 simi-
larly laid out for the benefit of the theatre, on his reinstatement in
the company.
He was at this time in his 85th year, and still, from time to time,
appearing on the stage both in Dublin and London. But on two
occasions he was suddenly deserted by his memory in the act of per"
formance, and in consequence gave up the stage soon after. His last
appearance was in 1789, on the Dublin boards, in the character of
Shylock, his memory failed in the middle of the play, and his part
was taken by another. He was then, if his birth be rightly dated, in
his hundredth year. He lived, nevertheless, for eight years longer,
and died July 11, 1797.
PKBIOD.] LAURENCE STERNE. 205
JSarrjn
DIED A. D. 1777.
BAIIRY, the celebrated actor, who long contested the palm of histri-
onic excellence with Garrick, was born in Dublin in 1719. He was
bred to the business of his father, an eminent and wealthy silversmith.
But, possessing- a strong taste for the stage, with unusually great
advantages of person and voice, he embraced the dramatic profession
in 1744. His success was distinguished, and being engaged in Lon-
don, he played on even terms with Garrick, with whom he fully
divided the public favour. His name occurs in every record of the
theatre, and is associated with its entire history. There is no object
to be attained by an abridged, narrative of his life. He built Crow-
street theatre, and failed to make it profitable; but, returning to
London, he soon repaired his circumstances, and lived in full posses-
sion of the most distinguished public favour till his death, in 1777.
He was interred in Westminster Abbey.
Barry was also famed in his own time for magnificent and profuse
hospitality, excessive extravagance, and for the same address in cajol-
ing his creditors which distinguished Sheridan. These traits Avould
furnish an amusing volume.
Hauroue
DIED A. D. 1768.
THOUGH actually in holy orders, and the incumbent of English
benefices, Sterne's character and writings cannot, with any propriety,
be referred to the ecclesiastical division of this work.
He was born in Clonmel, in 1713. His father was a lieutenant in
the army, and grandson to the archbishop of York, Dr Richard
Sterne. His early life was marked by numerous adventures, incident
to the military profession of his father, and of these he has left some
interesting accounts.
After much wandering he was placed at school at Halifax in 1722,
and his father having accompanied his regiment to Gibraltar, was
there wounded in a duel, so severely, that he never quite recovered—-
and shortly after being sent to Jamaica, died of a fever in 1731.
At the age of fifteen Sterne entered Cambridge : he graduated in
1736. He then, through the influence of his uncle (a prebendary of
Durham and of York,) obtained the small living' of Sutton. In 1741
he married, and obtained a prebend in York, through the influence
of his uncle, with whom he soon after quarrelled. Their disagree-
ment arose from differences of political opinion, but can not be satis-
factorily explained in a brief sketch. Nearly twenty years, from this
time, elapsed in the quiet enjoyments of rural and domestic life, in
which his time was passed in the performance of his professional
duties and the gratification of his tastes, among the chief of which,
206 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTIt
music and painting were diligently cultivated. To these, authorship
presently began to add its pleasures and troubles: it was in 1747
that the first two volumes of Tristram Shandy made their appearance,
and were received with immediate and general applause. There was,
in that licentious period, no drawback upon their praise on the score
of religion or strict morality, and their wit and fine sentiment were
received as a full compensation for the vein of corrupting and in-
delicate suggestion which accompanied them throughout. — In the
strangely capricious structure of Sterne's language, the most sublime
and virtuous trains of expression were used to lead to the most offen-
sive and ludicrous meanings — like flowery and adorned alleys leading
to the dark recesses of vice. By pursuing no train of thought or
narration, he was enabled to preserve the seeming of great copiousness
of matter, as he was thus enabled to bring in everything that he could
think of, or find in any book he could lay his hands on. The whole
was, however, richly set off by great powers of humour, a picturesque
conception, and those bursts of elevated sentiment which belonged
to a mind at the same time replete with fancy, sprightly wit, and
lively sensibility. We cannot here enter into a fuller description of
this equivocal production — which we trust will not again be paralleled
from the pen of a Christian divine.*
It introduced its author at once to the highest worldly circles, and
as his conversation was very much of a piece with his writings, he
was universally caressed and entertained. In 1760 he was presented
with the curacy of Coxwould, where there was a desirable residence,
where he afterwards lived at intervals.
His health began to decline under the combined influence of labour
and dissipation upon an excitable and weak frame. A blood-vessel in
his lungs was ruptured, and he was under the necessity of seeking a
milder air in France. His reception in Paris was worthy of the sage
motto "vive la bagatelle," of the gay and laughing generation of
Frenchmen then living. His letters, which have been published,
overflow with the account of his honours and triumphs. There the
objectionable coarseness of his writings appeared softened by com-
parison with the exceeding grossness of manners and conversation,
in which there was no reserve, and where delicacy was quite un-
tho ught of.
Having continued for five months in this giddy and brilliant circle,
lie was joined by his wife aud daughter, and they repaired to Toulouse,
where they remained for a year. After some further stay in Mont-
pellier, he returned in 1764 to England. But as his health could
not permit of any continued sojourn, he again went abroad in the
following year. It was at this time his design to write an elaborate
work descriptive of Italy, its manners, people, and antiquities, and he
prepared himself for this purpose by extensive reading. But his
strength did not admit of the necessary exertions. By his letters he
is to be traced with much interest through Turin, Florence, Naples,
and Home ; but the details are not full, nor is there any indication of
* On the subject of Sterne's Work, our opinion is stated very fully in tlie
Dublin University Magazine, September 1836 ; from -which this abstract is now
drawn*
PERIOD.] KANE o'llARA. 207
the more serious purpose.- Having accepted of a travelling pupil, he
extended his tour to Venice, Vienna, Saxony, Berlin, and so returned
to England in 1760, where we find him engaged in the ninth volume
of Tristram Shandy.
About this time Occurred his most unfortunate intimacy with Mrs
Draper; which, although we do not see reason to pronounce it guilty
in the most criminal respect, yet cannot be seen as otherwise than
degrading to his profession and years, as it was hurtful to the peace
and reputation of its object. We cannot admit that the sentimental
tie, commonly called Platonic, may not in possibility be quite innocent ;
but considering the inconsistency and self-illusion of all sentimental
passions, and the sleepless wickedness of the human heart, we must
admit a strong' primd facie case against it. Out of a thousand cases
it is much if one is guiltless. For Sterne may be pleaded old age and
a broken frame — his strong asseverations — his facile affections and
quick sympathies — with the loneliness in which he then lived. The
heart of an old man will seek something to rest on — as deserted
by the promises of the world, an awful sentiment of loneliness begins
to steal around it, like the approach of night. It is, indeed, to be
regretted that he had not found a nobler, purer, and truer refuge in
that faith and hope of which he was the pledged minister.
Repeated attacks of the same debilitating disease soon brought
Sterne to the last stage. On the 18th of March, 1768, he expired at
a boarding house in Bond Street.
In including Sterne in our memoirs, we have acted in deference to
the general assumption of biographers ; but we have to observe, that
the grounds of admission by which we have been governed are want-
ing. His parents were English, and his education, as well as his
subsequent life, was all in England. We have adopted a wide and
liberal rule of construction, including both Englishmen who lived and
founded families in Ireland, and Irishmen wherever they were born
or lived: acting thus on a rule which excludes the mere locality of
birth; we think it right to observe that in the case of Sterne there is
no other claim. It is for this reason that we have declined entering
upon the numerous topics offered by his life and wrorks, at the length
which they perhaps deserve. The view which we have formed upon
some of the most popular questions respecting his writings, we have
very fully stated in the Dublin University Magazine.*
Hans
DIED A. D. 1782.
O'HARA was the author of the burletta of "Midas." He was in his
day distinguished for musical taste. He wrote the " Two Misers," the
" Golden Pippin," and " April Day," and altered Fieldings " Tom
Thumb" to the form which is BOW known. He died 1782.
* No. for April 1830.
208 LITERARY SERIEfJ. [FlFTH
A. D. 1728.— DIED A. D. 1807.
SYLVESTER O'HALLORAN, a native of Limerick, is well-known to tho
students of Irish history. He began life as a Medical student. Be-
fore he had reached his twenty-first year he wrote a treatise on
Cataract, which obtained the approbation of Haller.
In 1785 he became a member of the Royal Irish Academy, — and
reached considerable eminence as an antiquarian. He wrote an an-
cient history of Ireland, which holds authority among antiquarians ;
and several other tracts, on the same subject, which have been received
with distinction by competent judges. He died in his native city
in 1807.
DIED A. D. 1816.
O'NEILL is still remembered as a harper of unrivalled skill. He is
said to have been instrumental to the preservation of many of the
Irish melodies. He was also eminent for antiquarian knowledge.
Like Carolan, he was blind. He was in his ninetieth year when lie
died, in 1816.
©abanagfi
DIED A. D. 1816.
JAMES CAVANAGH MURPHY was a very eminent architect, and the
author of several distinguished works. He was a traveller, and pub-
lished his " Travels in Portugal." He also published " Antiquities of
the Arabians in Spain ;" and " Plans, Elevations, and Views of fia-
talha in Portugal." He died in 1816.
Sir
DIF!D A. D. 1818.
SIR R. MUSGRAVE is well-known as the author of a history of the
rebellions in Ireland, in which he gave such minute and faithful de-
tails as to give great offence to the popular press. He was collector
of the excise in Dublin, and a member of the Irish parliament. He
died in 1818.
PERIOD.] ELIZABETH HAMILTON. 209
DIED A. D. 1804.
MR MACLAINE was born in the county of Monaghan. He is entitled
to be recollected for his distinguished translation of Mosheim's His-
tory, and some other less known writings. He died in 1804.
<3i>arU0 JWacCCormtciu
DIED 1807.
MAcCoRMiCK was designed for the bar; but, unable to meet the
necessary expenses, he turned to literary pursuits. His principal
works are — " A Secret History of Charles II.," " Reign of George
III. to 1783," "Continuation of luapin's England," and a "Life of
Burke/' He died in 1807.
DIED A. D. 1778.
was a physician of very considerable eminence, and was
born in the county of Antrim. His " Experimental Essays," pub-
lished in 1764, obtained much notice. But he is to be commemorated
as the author of a very able and highly distinguished treatise " On
the Theory and Practice of Medicine." He died in 1778.
Hamilton.
BORN A. D. 1758. — DIED A. D. 1816.
Miss HAMILTON was born in 1758, in Belfast. As her mother was
not in circumstances favourable to her education, she was, in her sixth
year, committed to the care of an aunt, her father's sister, who re-
sided in Scotland. By this lady and her husband the most anxious
and judicious attention was given to her education. She applied to her
studies with ardour and distinguished success. It is mentioned that,
in her thirteenth year, an attempt was made by some youthful friend
to taint her mind with deistical notions. Happily this effort failed.
She came to the rational resolution to satisfy herself by a fair inves-
tigation. With her clear and vigorous understanding, the result of
such an inquiry could not be doubtful. Her faith was fixed, and gave
a direction to her life.
It was in 1785 she made her first essay as a writer for the press,
by a paper sent to the Lounger. Though devoted to study, she never
allowed her taste to encroach upon her duties j but, with a forbear-
VOL. VI. O
210 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTIl
ance and right-mindedness seldom to be seen except in the best and
most principled women, devoted her hours to the household cares of
her aunt.
At this period of her life she is mentioned as having been led for
some time into an engagement of the affections which appeared to
offer prospects of happiness, but which only led to disappointment,
and the abandonment of any future hopes of entering into married
life.
In 1786, the arrival of her brother, a most amiable man, in talents
not inferior to herself, but more advanced in knowledge and the ex-
perience of life, not only contributed to her happiness, but also to the
development and to the more judicious direction of her studies. Hav-
ing at this time made a great prog'ress in Oriental literature, and
being engaged in translations from Indian writings, he communicated
a taste for the same studies to his sister. Under his care and pro-
tection, she obtained the consent of her friends to visit London, where
she was introduced to the literary circles of the day, and led to form
more distinct views for her own guidance and the disposal of her
powers.
In 1792, she had the affliction to lose her inestimable brother, who
died while preparing for his return to India.
Her first serious exertion in literature was the " Hindoo Rajah,"
which, some years after its composition, she published in 1796. Her
next work was "Modern Philosophers," in which she exposed the
morals and philosophy which were then diffused with pestilential
activity through Europe. She next produced " Letters on Educa-
tion," an able and useful work.
Sometime in 1804, her useful writings had so far attracted atten-
tion that George III. conferred a pension on her. In the same year,
she had returned to fix her residence in Edinburgh, where she was
received with cordial satisfaction, and took an active part in the pro-
motion of the improvement of the condition of the poor. Proposals
of an advantageous nature were made to her to engage in superin-
tending the education of a nobleman's children ; she so far complied
as to reside in the family as a guest for some months for the purpose
of guiding the arrangements for that purpose. The result was
another useful publication, entitled " Letters to the Daughter of a
Nobleman." Pier next work was " Exercises in Relig-ious Know-
ledge," published in 1809- The " Cottagers of Glenburnie" followed,
with distinguished success.
In 1812, the state of her health was such as to excite alarm among
her friends. It was advised that she should pass the winter in Eng-
land. She accordingly repaired to Kenilworth. where she continued
with laudable industry to pursue her plans of useful and instructive
literature. But, in addition to gout and rheumatism, her ordinary
ailments, she was attacked with a violent inflammation in the eyes,
which occasioned the severest suffering. Having repaired to Harrow-
gate, her strength and spirits continued to decline till the 13th July,
1816, when she was released from her sufferings by death.
PERIOD.] JOHN JARVIS. 211
DIED A. D. 1804.
JARVIS was a very eminent painter on glass. Having first obtained
notice in Dublin, he removed to London. He was employed to paint
the windows in Windsor and Oxford, from designs by Reynolds and
West. He died in 1804.
SJofiert
DIED A. D. 1803.
JEPJISON was born in 1736. He was a captain in the 73d regiment,
and was a dramatic writer of some ability. He was warmly be-
friended by W. Gerard Hamilton, who obtained him £600 a-year on
the Irish establishment. His tragedy of " Braganza" was admired by
Horace Walpole. His " Count de Narbonne" was eminently success-
ful. He died at the Blackrock in 1803.
DIED A. D. 1800.
JOHNSON was born in 17 19? in the county of Limerick: received his
education in the Dublin University. Was called to the bar, but was
impeded by deafness. He is noticeable as the author of " Chrysal ; or
the Adventures of a Guinea." In 1782, he went out to the East
Indies, and narrowly escaped shipwreck. He was for some time a writer
in the Beng-al newspapers — became partner in some journal, and is
said to have made money.
He died in Bengal in 1800. He wrote several works.
DIED A. D. 1773.
JONES was born in an humble condition (in Drogheda), and became a
bricklayer. His literary talents were introduced to the notice of lord
Chesterfield, when lord-lieutenant, who took him to England. By the
aid and interest of this nobleman, his tragedy, the " Earl of Essex,"
was brought out. It appeared in 1753, and ran twelve nights. Fierce
passions, and an intractable vanity, alienated and tired out his friends,
and he died in great want, in a garret, in 1773-
212 LITERARY SERIES. [FiFTH
BORN A. D, 1727.— DIED A, D. 1805.
ARTHUR MURPHY was the son of a merchant. He was born at
Clooniquin, in the county of Roscommon. His father was lost at sea.
He was sent, at the age of ten, to St Omer's, to be educated: there
he acquired a masterly acquaintance with the Greek and Latin lan-
guages. He returned home in 1744; remained for three years with
his mother; was then sent to an uncle in Cork, in whose counting-
house he continued till 1749. He was destined for business, but the
vagrant temper, so often combined with the poetical temperament,
interfered, and, instead of going out to take charge of his uncle's
West India estate, he returned to his mother in 1751.
In October, 1752, he entered on his long literary career by com-
mencing a periodical: it lasted two years, and was the means of intro-
ducing him to actors and literary men in London. He contracted
debts on the hope of a legacy from his uncle ; but, being disappointed,
he took Foote's advice, and tried his success as an actor. His first
appearance was in Othello; and, though wanting- in the essentials for
distinguished excellence, by dint of judgment he rose to a respectable
rank. He was thus enabled to pay his debts and clear £400. He
then resolved to quit the stage, and go to the bar.
He was refused admission in the Middle Temple, on the ground of
his having been on the stage; but was received at Lincoln's-Inn. We
pass his political writings. He mainly lived by writing for the stage.
His dramatic productions were in general attended with success.
He was called to the bar in 1762. He went the Norfolk circuit,
but without success; and afterwards obtained but scanty employment
in London, where he now and then appeared to plead. He left the
bar in 1788, in disgust, on a junior being appointed king's counsel.
Retiring to Hammersmith, he gave himself up entirely to literature.
In 1793 he published his translation of Tacitus, which he dedicated
to Edmund Burke.
By the interest of lord Loughborough, he was appointed one of the
commissioners of bankruptcy, and soon after obtained a pension of
£200 a-ycar.
His dramatic works entitle him to a high rank among the British
dramatists; and his classical attainments have obtained him no inferior
place as a scholar.
He died at Knightsbridge, in 1805.
?E»mun» JHalcme,
A. D. 1741.— DIED A. D. 1812.
MALONE was born in Dublin, in 1741. He was a descendant from
the ancient family of the Mulones, — a branch of the O'Conors. In
PERIOD.] JOSEPH BLACK. 213
1756 he entered the university of Dublin, and graduated with his class
in the ordinary time.
In 1763 he was called to the Irish bar, and was rapidly rising into
reputation and employment, when a fortune was left him, which made
him independent of professional industry. He therefore retired ; and
settling in London, devoted himself to literature. His chosen walk
was criticism, and he is known to the world as the most judicious of
commentators.
While engaged in the revision of his edition of Shakespeare, a
very strange dispute arose between him and Steevens. Mr Steevens
insisted that his brother commentator should reprint his notes with-
out any change, in order to preserve the force and application of
certain replies which he had in preparation for them. To this
monstrous requisition, which overtops the proverbial absurdities of
Shakespeare's commentators, Mr Malone did not think fit to accede.
Mr Malone's edition of Shakespeare was published in 1790. Its
merit is too universally recognized for comment. In the present day,
a more rational spirit has directed the antiquarian class,* and a vast
accession of light has been reflected on the page of Shakespeare.
The full importance of this is well known, but it would be unfair to
exact the advantages of modern discovery from the ablest writers of
the last century.
Mr Malone was intimately acquainted with Johnson, Goldsmith,
Burke, Percy, and all the eminent men of his time. He was one of
the executors of Reynolds.
In 1800 he published an edition of the proso works of Dryden,
which till then had been obscurely scattered.
He was on the point of publishing a new edition of Shakespeare
when he fell ill and died, in 1812.
DIED A. D. 1812.
HALLIDAY was distinguished as a scholar; but only claims commemo-
ration for his extensive attainments in the ancient Irish language and
literature, from which much was expected by the Irish public. These
expectations were disappointed, by his death at the age of twenty-four,
in 1812. He published the translation of half of Keating's History
of Ireland, and composed an Irish Grammar.
BORN A. D. 1728. - DIED A. D. 1799.
Oun claim to Black is of that nature -which we should consider as
exempting us from the necessity of introducing his name, were it not
* We shall enter largely upon the subject at a further stage of this work.
214 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTll
that his claim on the gratitude of this, and every other country where
knowledge is prized, forbids the slight implied in the abandonment of
our right. His birth belongs to France — his life to Scotland, but
his father was a native and inhabitant of Belfast, where he was edu-
cated.
He was born in Bourdeaux, in 1728. At twelve he came home to
Belfast, and there received the first rudiments of his education. From
thence he was sent to the university of Glasgow.
The tendencies of his mind were early shown, and a strong love of
natural science evidently directed his choice to the medical profes-
sion. Scotland was then the great centre of this branch of study, and
to this that country was indebted for Black.
Black graduated in Edinburgh in 1754, and his inaugural disserta-
tion is remarkable as a sketch of the subsequent track of his studies
and discoveries. It was entitled, " De humore acido a cibis orto ct
magnesia alba."
In 1756, he had brought his ideas before the professional and
scientific circle of Edinburgh in a more full and detailed form, and it
was perhaps in consequence that he received his appointment to the
professorship of anatomy and chemistry in Glasgow, on the resigna-
tion of Cullen.
His great discovery on the subject of heat followed, and was the
splendid result of several years of profound investigation. He also
made the first steps in the discovery of the gases, of which till his
time no just notion had been received. We abstain from all detail of
these great branches of natural science, because we do not think that
any one who has acquired the rudiments of chemistry can now be
ignorant of them, or that accurate ideas can in a brief compass be
conveyed to those who have not.* These latter are few, indeed,
among the educated classes: those brilliant and interesting facts, not
very long since among the profoundest secrets of nature, beyond the
intellectual compass of the immortal Cullen, are now brought within
the reach of every school-boy — the beautiful and powerful agents of
more than half our social comforts.
Dr Black's theory of heat became universally adopted. He pursued
it into many curious and useful applications, in which he was aided
by his pupils, Irvine and Watt. He was ably followed in the same
line of application, by Priestley and Cavendish. In 1762, he read an
account of his experiments in public, and made a statement of the
fundamental theorems on which the whole was built. The entire
details of his method, experiments and discoveries, having been spread
through all the schools in Europe, were taken up and prosecuted by
the ablest philosophers. One of the consequences was, the same
injustice that has so often aimed to deprive British genius of its fame.
The French chemists, with the vanity and disingenuousness peculiar
* As we may be accused of not having observed the rule thus implied, \vo
must observe that, if any instance to the contrary be found, the intelligent reader
will also perceive the special reason. For example, an important controversy — a
fallacy pernicious to science, morals, or religion — the advance of Irish art or
science, <fec, <fcc.
PiiUIOD.] JOSEPH BLA.CK. 215
to that people, repeated his processes, and published the results as
original discoveries, with an entire disregard of the author. Laplace
published investigations on heat, plainly pirated from the labours of
Black, which, had been many years before the public. Of Black's
existence he seems unconscious — a species of dishonesty which would
be unaccountable and perplexing, were it not so usual among his
countrymen as to leave no doubt as to its character and motives. But
all such artifices sink into trifles compared with the audacious im-
posture which we must, however reluctantly, couple with the name of
De Luc. As in the case of Newton and Leibnitz, there had been a
previous correspondence on the subject, though of a nature far more
explicit and direct. De Luc had communicated to Dr Black his
admiration of his theory and investigations, and expressly proposed to
be the foreign editor of a systematic exposition. Dr Black furnished
him with numerous details. De Luc brought out a work in which he
gave the whole theory as his own, incidentally stating (as a satisfac-
tory confirmation) his understanding that Dr Black agreed with his
conclusions!*
The friends of this great man were neither silent nor patient of such
an unworthy proceeding. The doctor was urged to publish a system-
atic history of his discoveries ; but this the urgent and laborious duties
of his professorship, much augmented by the zeal with which they were
discharged, rendered difficult. He had been brought from Glasgow,
in 1766, to succeed Dr Cullen in the chair of chemistry in Edinburgh.
Here his lectures became in a high degree popular: they were crowded
from the whole of Europe, and became even fashionable as a part of
polite education. This latter circumstance was the consequence of his
extraordinary perspicuity, and the ingenuity, precision, and general
interest of the experiments by which his statements were illustrated
and confirmed.
His constitution was by nature extremely delicate; and the intense
and anxious labour of his pursuits and duties was too much to be re-
sisted without injury. He became subject to distressing affections of
the stomach and lungs; and a spitting of blood was the result of any
fatigue, or the slightest freedom of living.
It was in 1799? in the seventy-first year of his age, that he closed
his illustrious labours with his life, by an easy and painless death, un-
attended by any decided illness. He was found dead in his chair, with
the cup from which he had just taken the simple diet of which his
delicate health admitted, resting on his knee in such a manner as to
indicate how tranquilly and gently the last earthly change had passed.
His lectures have been published by Professor Robinson. The only
works from his own hand are slight in bulk, though interesting and
important in value. These are, his " Inaugural Dissertation ;" his
" Experiments on Magnesia Alba, Quicklime," &c. ; " Observations
on the more ready Freezing of Water that has been Boiled;" and an
" Analysis of the Waters of some Boiling Springs in Iceland."
* From the application of these strictures, Lavoisier is honourably exempt. 'It
was on the recommendation of this illustrious Frenchman that Black was elected
r.s one of the foreign associates to the academy of sciences in Paris.
216 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
BOUN A.D. 1775. — DIED 1802.
DERMODT'S father was a schoolmaster, first at Ennis where his son
was born in 1775, and afterwards in Gal way. In his school, Thomas,
the subject of our memoir, received his education, and showed such
extraordinary powers of attainment, that he is said to have been em-
ployed as classical assistant when he was but nine years old. Before
he had attained his tenth year, he displayed poetic powers of no mean
order. There is also reason to believe that the same precocity showed
itself in every part of his conduct and disposition. When the affections
and passions, as well as intellectual powers, are prematurely developed,
they are necessarily far in advance of the slower progress of the judg-
ment, founded on mature experience, and demand, in a more than
ordinary degree, the control of authority, and the training hand of
discipline and example. This seems to have been precisely what was
wanting to Dermody. His father, a man of talent and learning, was
addicted to drunkenness; and the consequence was a disorderly home
and a vicious example. The son, without religion, prudence, or virtue,
thoroughly ignorant of life, and inflated by imagination, vulgar flattery,
and vicious reading, was, while yet a boy, inflamed with a strong in-
clination to leave his home and follow the fortunes of an adventurer.
The perusal of that most profligate and corrupting novel, " Tom
Jones," gave the immediate impulse to his depraved temper, and from
the house of a gentleman with whom he and his father were on a visit,
he departed, without communicating his design, for Dublin. Two
shillings were his entire provision; but he entertained a full reliance
on his genius, and a strong expectation of the fortunate adventures
which happen to the heroes of romance. We cannot pursue the inci-
dents of his peregrination; he arrived penniless in Dublin, and was
soon glad to accept of a tuition from the keeper of a book stall. As
this was the dictate of hunger, so it is probable that a few days of the
sordid economy of a cellar, in which his employer resided, must have
tired his wandering genius. He became successively acquainted with
several persons of learning, who had the discernment to perceive his
extraordinary talents and scholarship, and the liberality to relieve him,
and to endeavour to put him in the way of doing something for himself.
At last he was introduced to the notice of that most worthy man, the
Reverend Gilbert Austin, Rector of Maynooth, who, being himself
richly versed in every branch of literary and scientific attainment, and
endowed with a most enlarged spirit of charity, entered with the zeal
of his benevolent nature into the interests of a young and friendless
scholar and poet. At his own expense he selected and published a
volume of his poems ; and, by means of a subscription, collected a suffi-
cient sum to place him out of the reach of immediate want.
It was now that his vices began to assert the entire command over
his conduct. The most abandoned and flagrant impostures, without
any proportionable inducement, plainly indicated an utter disregard of
every principle of right, or truth, or sense of honour or decency. And
f HOMAS DERMODY, 217
the consequence was, that while by his genius he obtained patrons, he
lost their protection as fast, by conduct unrestrained by either shame
or prudence, We save ourselves the disgusting task of recounting
instances, because there is, in the case of Dermody, no demand for the
nice abatements which the duty of justice usually imposes, where good
and bad are to be carefully weighed in the opposite scales, and the
exaggerations of report corrected. Dermody had no virtues but
those random and capricious impulses which originate in the animal
sympathy, and which derive their real value from the more permanent
habits of the mind; they may communicate ardour and fervency to
spiritual sentiment, they may quicken virtue in the observance of right,
but they afford to vice the gift of dissembling with effect, and are the
current pretension of fraud and hypocrisy. We are fully aware, and
admit, that these virtues of temperament (if the expression be allowed),
when they are largely developed, may have a very controlling influ-
ence over the conduct — this it would be folly to deny — but, in the
present instance, we have no allowances to make on this score. Thomas
Dermody was not only abandoned to every vice, and devoid of all virtue,
but he was avowedly so. Plis love of vice was avowed: " I am vicious,
because I like it," was the profession of which every incident of his
life which has found any record, is the illustration. One after another,
wealthy and liberal friends exerted themselves to raise him from, the
abject condition to which vice and folly quickly reduced him again ;
however lifted into respectability by his own genius or the charity of
others, he uniformly sank back by the innate weight of a thoroughly
profligate nature. Such being summarily the life to which details
could but impart the severity which we wish to avoid, we have only
to state the names of the benevolent and liberal friends who would,
were it possible, have raised him to the position which they thought
might be attained by his talent and learning: — Mr Owenson; Henry
Grattan; the Countess of Moira; the Attorney General (afterwards
lord Kilwarden), who generously offered to pay the expenses of a uni-
versity education ; all the successive efforts of these liberal friends were
frustrated by a uniform improvidence at the prompting of a worthless
and vicious disposition. A life of extreme vicissitudes and emergen-
cies was the consequence; if he was one day the cherished object of
generous patronage, in a few more he contrived to be the squalid in-
mate of the abodes of vice, or the penniless outcast even from these last
retreats of human degradation. In depravity, as well as in goodness,
there is a progress, which is, however, not so pleasing to follow; per-
haps it is a wise and merciful provision, that the obliteration of the
moral sense is accompanied, and perhaps limited, by the decay of the
understanding. Something of this is strongly suggested by the inci-
dents related of Dermody.
Having run through all the changes of a life few in years, but dis-
graced by profligacy and darkened by misery seldom compassed in
the longest; worn by diseases arid privations, and impaired in intellect,
Thomas Dermody died in England, in 1802. His writings and his
attainments were deservedly admitted as unquestionable indications of
talents and of genius approaching the highest order, bestowed to no
purpose but for a lesson too plain to be enforced by amplifications.
218 LITERARY SERIES.
[ FIFTH
We have to add a strong assurance to our reader that it is with no
uncharitable pleasure that we have written this brief summary. It is
usual among the writings which must be turned over for our materials,
to disguise, to some extent, the reality by qualifications which, when
they do not chance to be quite nugatory, are pernicious. Leaving the
character over which they pretend to cast a tolerant veil, thoroughly
exposed to the understanding of any reader, their charity goes no far-
ther than a courtesy or a deference to vice. The extent to which this
perversion is carried is often ludicrous. Some one has, for instance,
been complaisant enough to praise Dermody for not, " like some others,"
pretending to any virtue. We trust that no one may be offended by
our disclaiming this species of charity, of which we cannot discern
any useful or worthy end.
BOHN A.D. 1724 __ DIED A.D. 1769.
DERRICK began life as apprentice to a linen-draper in Dublm. Having
a taste for gaiety and idleness, and some superficial talents, he quitted
the business, and after vainly trying the stage, he subsisted by writing
for the press. After many vicissitudes, he profited so far by his inter-
course with the scenes of dissipation and folly, as to succeed Beau
Nash as master of the ceremonies at Bath. He produced many works
of no notoriety, and died in 1769.
A.D. 1744. DIED A.D. 1817.
Ma EDGEWORTH'S family settled in Ireland in the reign of Elizabeth.
Its descendants seem to have been endowed with more than the
average portion of talent, vivacity, and activity of spirit, and to have
passed through the lights and shades of earthly vicissitude, to which,
in the course of things, such a modification of the character is liable.
Mr Edgeworth seems to have faithfully inherited the mind with the
fortune of his ancestors ; and at an early age manifested on several occa-
sions and in various modes, the indications of a precocious and prompt
intellect — and of a temper active, adventurous, and speculative. Of
this, numerous examples may be found in his memoir, which has long
been in the hands of the public.
He was born in or about the year 1744. He ascribes that love for
mechanics, for which he was so distinguished, to the early impression
received in his seventh year from an old gentleman, who then showed
an orrery and explained its uses. His youthful age was distinguished
by a love of acquirement, and a no less remarkable fondness for the dis-
sipation of gaiety, and the pleasures of the hall and field. In 1760 ho
entered the university of Dublin ; he was then in his sixteenth year,
and was, probably, too much under the intoxication of that opening
period of youthful hope and desire, to attend to the studies of the
PERIOD.] RICHARD L, EDGEWORTH. 219
place. And, it may be added, that it does not necessarily follow that
a practical talent for the results of science, is proportionably accom-
panied by a talent or taste for the rudiments, or the theory. Mr Edge-
worth was idle, and, consequently, obtained no collegiate distinction.
When he had passed about two years in this unprofitable course, he
was sent to finish his education on easier terms in Oxford. While
there, he contracted an attachment to a Miss Elers, the daughter of an
old friend of his father's, whom he married in Gretna Green, a step
rendered necessary by his being yet a minor. He obtained his father's
forgiveness. He soon after entered the temple to keep terms for the
bar. While thus employed, he became acquainted with Sir Francis
Blake Delaval, the most wild and dissipated character of his day, a wit,
gambler, and horse racer ; by means of this gentleman he was intro-
duced into a circle of persons of an idle and rakish class, but the death
of an intimate, through whom this associatiou was formed, was for-
tunately its termination; and he soon fell into more respectable and
more congenial acquaintances.
He had been for some time amusing himself by exercising his in-
genuity in the invention of mechanical contrivances, among which, the
varied modes of locomotion appear chiefly to have engaged his attention.
In pursuing these, he had conceived some improvement upon an inven-
tion of Darwin's, who had also amused his leisure in similar pursuits.
The result was, after some correspondence, a visit to the Doctor, who
had all through imagined his clever correspondent to be a coachmaker,
and whose error was hardly removed after some hours' acquaintance.
To most readers who may happen to be conversant with the social and
literary history of that day, it is needless to say, that Mr Edgeworth
thus dropped into a circle very peculiarly characterized: much shrewd
common sense and observation — much intellectual activity, smartness,
and ingenuity — a strong infusion of the superficial philosophizing of that
day, moderated by those qualities, but still giving to their manners and
language a slight tinge of charlatanerie, seem to be the characteristic
breathing', with no small prominency, in the recollections of the clever and
lively circle of the Sewards, Darvvins, Days, and their tea-table and
epistolary friends. Mixed with these we meet names of weightier
claim, Watt, Bolton, Ramsden, &c., men at the head of the practical
science of their time, and the worthy founders of the vast improve-
ments which are now so entirely altering the structure and operations
of social life throughout the world. This, to one so social, clever, and
vivacious, as Mr Edgeworth, was like the opening of a new world of
adventure and a new field of intellectual excitement. The conversa-
tion and the gossip of the literary — the studies and inventions of the
scientific — and the bold speculations of the theoretic, were laid open
to him in their most animated and engaging aspects. Himself in
many respects among the most ingenious and active spirited of the
circle, his ambition was nourished, and his curiosity awakened and
instructed; and his mind, which never could have subsided into a quiet
and settled course, directed into one that was both respectable and
safe.
Among his early acquaintance was Mr Thomas Day, a gentleman
of fortune, known as the author of " Sanford and Merton." His
220 LITERARY SERIES. [FllTIl
opinions may bo generally described as extreme deductions from the
eccentric and shallow theories of the day. In common with Mr Edge-
worth, this gentleman indulged a taste for such theories, and their
intimacy was cemented by an earnest ardour in the pursuit of useful
and practical results from them. It would be tedious here to trace
these propensities to the spirit of the time, or to show how a strong
impulse in favour of change and innovation rendered education a topic
of exceeding interest to speculation. It evidently was the main handle
offered to the metaphysical inquirer for any extensive practical experi-
ment. These young friends took up the question with the ardour of
their nature and youth, and began to speculate on education before they
can be properly said to have completed their own. For such youthful
and inexperienced philosophers there must have been, as we know there
was, a deep fascination in the sparkling eloquence of Rousseau. His
erratic doctrines, founded on assumptions so specious as to wear to in-
experience the aspect of plain common sense, were largely infused into
the spirit of a time pregnant with change. With Day it found a con-
genial soil and became assimilated, shooting up in a plentiful growth
of fantastic notions. Mr Edgeworth was, happily for himself and his
children, gifted with shrewd sense and high powers of observation,
which rescued him from the illusions which misled his ardour for a
time. The philosophy of a depraved school was differently accepted
and put into practice by each. Mr Day concluded by discovering a
philosophy of his own, and while less daring minds speculated on the
improvement of the rising race, by trusting their education to the
kindly hands of nature, he resolved to begin one step at least farther
back, in the education of the mothers. His plan was to educate a wife
for himself; and for this purpose he took two female children from the
foundling hospital, and carried them abroad, to superintend the growth
of their understandings. Mr Edgeworth was content to try the ex-
periment on his first-born son, and in course of time found reason to
alter and amend his views on the subject of education.
The very unusual course and character of the main incidents of the
earlier part of Mr Edgeworth's life, is such as to render it inexpedient
for us to enter minutely upon the details Avith which he has abundantly
supplied the world. They who look for them in his own account, will
be much amused and, perhaps, instructed. He led a varied and busy
life, was acquainted largely in the most interesting circles, and observed
with a curious eye. His autobiography is replete with the interest
which might reasonably be anticipated from such advantages. We
must, however, resist the temptations to digress, thus offered in every
p:\ge, and confine our remarks to a few points of more general im-
portance.
Mr Edgeworth's first wife having died, he was shortly after married
to. a Miss Honora Sneyd; and with this marriage his autobiography
ends, and the account of his life is taken up by his celebrated daughter,
the offspring of his first wife.
After his second marriage, Mr Edgeworth returned to Ireland to
live upon his estate. From that period he may be said to have com-
menced a new and far more respectable and useful course of life. The
improvement of his property, and the education of his children exercised
PERIOD.] RICHARD L. KDGEWORTIJ. 221
his talents; while his devotion to mechanical studies and contrivances
gave a salutary and safe direction to the excess of his mercurial facul-
ties. In a country, and at a period when unbounded prejudice and
ignorance obscured the intellect and repressed every tendency to im-
provement, his sagacity and experienced observation, and the boldness
of a free and adventurous temper, combined to lead him to the adop-
tion of a more rational and beneficent method, both in his estate and
household. And in his conduct to his tenantry, and in the educa-
tion of his children, he displayed an example in many respects worthy
to be followed. So far as we are enabled to form an opinion from the
statements of Mr Edgeworth's biography, we are convinced that among
the tendencies of his mind, one was a strong ambition to be useful,
and, according to his own views, to promote the interests of mankind.
Among the means for this laudable end, the diligent application to
mechanical contrivances afforded employment to the prevailing turn
of his tastes and intellect. He possessed much of the curiosity and
invention essential to such a purpose ; and we cannot doubt that a more
profound and enlarged acquaintance with mathematical and physical
science than he seems to have possessed, would have enabled him to
take a prominent place among' the authors of useful inventions. He
claims to have invented an application of telegraphic communication,
and we believe he is allowed to have made some useful discoveries re-
lative to wheel carriages.
The most important, however, of Mr Edgeworth's claims to the
gratitude of posterity, are his contributions, however they may be rated,
on the subject of education. To this subject he applied much good
common sense, much experience, and a diligent and careful study pur-
sued under favourable circumstances. He had set out in life with a
very remarkable mistake on this head; precisely the reverse of the most
important and universal fact in the nature of the infant mind. So
much so, indeed, that the notice of it offers the fairest occasion to
state a truth more important to parents than any other to knowr and
act on. It was the error of the school of Rousseau, that the early for-
mation of the moral and intellectual character was to be trusted to the
hand of Nature, and that the mind was to be suffered to attain a cer-
tain degree of maturity before any application of discipline or educa-
tion. Mr Edgeworth had the good sense to reject the destructive and
absurd quackery of the specious character of Geneva, and to adopt and
inculcate a system founded on the reality of human nature. We are
not, however, aware to what extent an elementary explanation of this
principle has been at any time stated. It is the result of two distinct
considerations: first, the fact that the faculties and the tendencies of the
human mind begin to be developed in different degrees, and with a rapid
though irregular succession, commencing with the earliest dawn of life.
Thus, for example, before an infant is many months old, anger and
jealousy begin to show themselves with love; and observation with
curiosity, also as early begin to indicate the first intellectual move-
ments. Before the first year is passed, there are few of either the
moral or intellectual tendencies of ordinary men that cannot be more
or less discerned by any qualified observer. This is the first fact.
The second is, that all the knowledge, the dispositions, and acquire-
222 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTII
mcnts of mature life, are (with some insignificant exceptions,) acquired
habits. That we think, act, and even feel, hear, and see, by habit.
And that in proportion as habits are early acquired, they are more
thoroughly incorporated with the character. These are the fundamental
principles of education. And the very first proposition which follows
most immediately from them is, that the very earliest indication of a
tendency, (so far as certain other considerations of a limiting kind do
not interfere,) would, in principle, be the moment for the application
of a proportional discipline to that tendency. The limits arise from
the fact that there are other tendencies of our complex nature to be re-
garded; and the parent's judgment is to be shown by preserving the
temperate course between opposite principles. We are not engaged
upon a treatise on education, or we should say much more ; \\e have
made the foregoing statement, because we are glad to have any op-
portunity to suggest a principle of such extensive importance, which
(to judge from the common conduct of parents,) seems so very little
known.
We do not agree with Mr Edgeworth as to the value of what his
biographer has termed the " experimental method" of education. The
results of particular observation of the indications of individual chil-
dren, would have the same value that similar observation has in natural
philosophy, were it not that all the main processes on which education
must depend, are familiarly known. They are the old laws of human
nature, on which thousands of able observers and thinkers have been
engaged from the beginning of society. All that such a register as
might thus be made could serve, would be the exhibition of the law
regulating peculiar cases. We do not deny that such an induction
might be very useful, we only deny the use proposed. We wholly dis-
agree with the argument which an eminent critic has employed against
it; for we are thoroughly convinced of the uniformity which must pre-
vail in the utmost eccentricities of human conduct, or in the moral or
intellectual phenomena of nature. It is to detect this very law that
the method proposed would be useful. And the very hasty assertion
of the reviewer is just what shows its want. It would be curious, and
not without its use in theory, to ascertain the limits of age at which
certain human tendencies may commence. The apparent singularities
of children are not only reproduced, but they are actually the begin-
nings of the peculiarities of grown men — and in this view it would be
desirable that they should be studied, and, if possible, be reduced to
rules. They are, indeed, often the combined effects of nature and
circumstances, and thus would be more important still.
Mr Edgeworth had ample opportunity for the prosecution of experi-
ments on the education of children; he was married five times, and
had children by each of his wives. Whether the method he pursued
was the very best or not, it was in a great many respects judicious,
and, so far as we have been enabled to judge from the results, success-
ful in an eminent degree. Of the talents and virtues of some, at least,
of his children, the public has been enabled to judge; and were we
to test a theory by the criterion of success, the decision must unques-
tionably be favourable. It does not, indeed, follow from such instances
that the theory is altogether right, because the practice has been
PERIOD.] RICHARD L. EDGEWORTH. 223
in some instances successful. A man may walk well, and have a
false theory of walking. In common courses of conduct, men will
theorize wrongly, and act with much practical prudence ; observation,
common sense, and judgment, go before and preside over the detail:
theorizing follows; and many little exertions of ingenuity may obtain
the merit of successes with which they have nothing to do. The chil-
dren of Mr Edgeworth were endowed with hereditary talent — some
of them in a very high degree. The experience of Mr Edgeworth
was peculiar; to appreciate his theories of education we should allow
or deduct for the intellectual constitution of his children. His method,
however, seems to have been well adapted to the subjects on which it
was employed. His pursuits, the results at which he commonly
arrived, his love of explaining, were all suited to the excitement and
gratification of intellectual tendencies. This would not be equally
successful with numerous broods of children. In Mr Edgeworth's
system there was a defect which no philosophical merits can compen-
sate— we mean the want of a Christian education, by which alone the
radical vices of human nature can be rightly disciplined. This is,
indeed, the lowest statement which can be given of such a want. It
is the vice which radically pervades the views of Mr Edgeworth, so
far as they are to be inferred from his statements; made, too, under
circumstances which seemed to impose the necessity of being explicit;
that he looked on religion only so far as it has relation to the tem-
poral interests, or simply as a social principle. This most indefensi-
ble error has been very justly and strongly reprehended by the same
critical writer, in the " Quarterly Review," to one of whose strictures
we have already adverted. We should, but for this, have made a few
remarks; but we do not consider the comment which we should have
to offer to be so much wanting now as at that period. As we have
not here stated the fallacious defence, we may omit the reply. It may
bo enough for the present to record our protest against the notion,
under whatever circumstances advanced, that any system of education
in which the spiritual and eternal interests of the individual are not
placed in their due pre-eminence, can be regarded as other than la-
mentably and fatally defective. These are the first interests, and it
is an error, or a culpable neglect, to omit them: neither the legislature
or the parent can set aside the paramount obligation; there is but one
excuse which is not illogical, and that one is not true.
Mr Edgeworth entered parliament at a late period of his life. Of
his political opinions, it is unnecessary to enter into any detail. At
the time of the rebellion his house was attacked, and saved by the
gratitude of one person who had received some act of kindness from
his family. The members of his household had flown on the first
alarm into Longford; and on their return they found everything safe,
and were received with joyful welcome by the people of Edgeworths-
tovvn. It was at this period that Mr Edgeworth was married to his
last wife.
Mr Edgeworth was a man of very considerable talent and virtue,
and in a very high degree to be praised, when such praise was a dis-
tinction for all that contributes to the respectability and happiness of
private life ; as well as, also, for a public spirit of utilitarianism, which,
224 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
properly directed, controlled, and seconded, would be capable of great
and extensive good.
He was joint author with his far more able and talented daughter,
in several useful writings; most of which were directed with a view
to the education of the young or the improvement of the poor; and
which, we have no doubt, have had their designed effect in diffusing
just ideas and dispelling prejudices.
Mr Edge worth died in 1817.
DIED 1812.
MR KIRWAN was educated in the Jesuits' college of St Omer's: he was
intended for a physician. He showed a strong turn for chemistry, and
pursued the study with eagerness. By the death of his elder brother,
he succeeded to the family estate in the county of Gal way, and, in con-
sequence, relinquished the design of a profession. He nevertheless
followed his prevailing taste in devoting himself to the diligent pur-
suit of chemical investigations. He attained a high character for
knowledge and skill, but was not fortunate in the results of his in-
quiries. Among the writings of more eminent men, and among the
records of their discoveries or speculations, his name is commonly-
found, and his authority quoted, as a careful and accurate observer.
He had the honour to be president of the Royal Irish Academy.
He was also diligent, and not unsuccessful in the collection of old
Irish music, for which he had a strong taste
He died in Dublin, in 1812.
BORN A. D. 1774. — DIED A. D. 1814.
MRS TIGHE was born in Dublin, 1774. She was the daughter of the
Rev. W. Blachford. Her mother was a Miss Tighe of Rosanna, in
the county of Wicklow. She married her cousin, Mr Henry Tighe,
of the same place. She was remarkable for the refinement and deli-
cacy of her taste and sentiments. Her frame and physical constitu-
tion were, unhappily, as delicate as her mind, and her health began
early to give way — "to steal before the steps of time." Family be-
reavements and afflictions contributed to hasten a premature decline,
and she died, deeply regretted, in 1814, after a long and distressing
interval of extreme debility.
Her principal poem is generally known. The sweet, and often
pathetic, composition of " Psyche," shows a mind of exceeding refine-
ment and elegance, though in some degree too languid to excite much
interest or convey permanent impressions. But it cannot be read
without awakening a sense of tenderness and respect for the feel-
ing and lovely authoress. Mr Moore has commemorated her in one
PfiBIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 225
of his Irish Melodies — " I saw that form" — in which, if we are to place
anj faith in the language of poetry, he gives a pathetic testimony to
her powers of pleasing, and the charm of her manners and conversa-
tion.
" Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,
To dwell with them were far less sweet
Than to remember thee — Mary !"
BORN A.D. 1741. DIED A.D. 1806.
BABRY'S father was, according to the best accounts, the commander
of a trading vessel which coasted the south of Ireland. His childhood
was early marked by the indications of an intellectual temperament.
His love of study was carried even to a dangerous extreme. Origin-
ally designed for his father's calling, he was soon observed to have
recourse to sketching with chalk, on every accessible surface of the
ship, the various objects that presented themselves along the coast.
As he grew older, he bega*i to exhibit more impatience of the mono-
tonous life to which he was destined by his father. And as his pre-
valent taste and his singular talents became at the same time more
apparent, his father was urged by many friends to change his purpose,
and send him to school.
The history of his early days must be slightly passed ; though, could
we afford sufficient space, the formation of Barry's peculiar character
would be instructive to trace. He made himself unusually remark-
able by his intractable temper; his powers of conversation; his talents
for, and love of, disputation; his devotion to reading; and, most of all,
his enthusiastic study of art. His favourite books were theological,
and his controversial temper was displayed and nourished by frequent
disputes with the priests of the Roman Church who frequented his
mother's house.
His early attainments in the art of delineation attracted universal
notice. Without any of the aids by which the most ordinary tyro can
now be rapidly accomplished in all that can be taught of art, he had,
in his seventeenth year, acquired an easy, powerful, and expressive
mastery of the pencil. At this period he began to paint.
For about five years from the point of time last mentioned, it will
be unnecessary to trace him. Within that interval, he probably had
advanced as far as was possible for mere intellectual power, unaided by
the means usual for the students of so refined and difficult a branch
of study.
Of the actual state of art in that period, it is our design to speak
more at large in our introduction to the next, as we shall thus be
enabled to offer some approach towards a sketch of the history of this
particular branch of art. It will be here enough to say, that, consider-
ing the defectiveness of his means of attainment, and the actually low
state of art, his progress was surprising. He was not without such
VOL. vi. p
226 LITERARY SERIES. [FiFTH
aid and encouragement as the praise of the crowd could give ; and he
also obtained occasional employment from the booksellers.
It was in 1763, when he had attained the twenty-second year of
his age, that he came to Dublin with several paintings, of which the
enumeration here will show the range of his mind. These were, ^Eneas
escaping with his family from the sack of Troy ; a Dead Christ; Susanna
and the Elders; Daniel in the Lion's Den; Abraham's Sacrifice; and
the Baptism of the King of Cashel. This last mentioned alone needs be
noticed, as it was his actual introduction into life. The story ou
which this painting was designed, is told at length by Keating.
Patrick was represented leaning on a staff, or crozier, of which the
lower end, armed with a spike, rested on the monarch's foot. His
guards were advancing to seize the supposed offender, but were stayed
by perceiving that their master seemed quite unconscious of the spike
which was piercing through his flesh. It was a well chosen subject;
and the time was fortunate for the painter. The society for the en-
couragement of arts and manufactures in Ireland was just preparing
for an exhibition of paintings. Barry applied for and obtained a
place for his picture. It was hung near the two best paintings in the
room, the productions of artists who had exhausted the means of im-
provement then to be obtained, and finished their studies in Italy.
When Barry went to see his picture after it was hung, he was elated
by perceiving his own decided superiority. The favourable anticipa-
tion thus raised was confirmed on the opening of the exhibition. He
was excited to a fierce delight by the general impression: the crowd
pressed eagerly to see the king of Cashel. A murmur of inquiry for
the artist rose, and Barry could not refrain from crying aloud, " It is
my picture." " Your picture !" answered a spectator, surprised at the
rude appearance of the artist, " what do you mean?" " I can paint a
better," was the reply. But he was not believed, until an acquaint-
ance came forward to confirm his word. This picture was immedi-
ately purchased and presented to the House of Commons. It was
destroyed in the fire by which the parliament-house was a few years
after consumed.
Barry's fortune was eventually more promoted by a letter of intro-
duction, addressed to Burke, from Dr Sleigh, of Cork. Burke was at
the time in the commencement of his splendid career, and was in
Dublin as private secretary to William Gerard Hamilton, of whom
the reader may find some notices in our memoir of Burke. To Burke,
Barry's animated and clever conversation and spirited tone of mind
were favourable recommendations, and a strong friendship began be-
tween them. The first result must be briefly told. After being-
introduced to the refined and enlightened circle of which Burke was
the ornament and conspicuous centre, and receiving eight months of
pleasure and improvement in their society, Barry was advised to try
his fortune in a fairer field, and set out for London with Richard
Burke. There, by the active and zealous exertions of Burke he ob-
tained some employment and much kind notice.
By the advice of Reynolds, it was determined to send him to Italy.
Some delay occurred, until Burke, by the improvement of his own
income, and by the influence which he could exert, was enabled to
PEKIOD.] JAMES BAIIRY. 227
obtain the means of a sure provision for the necessary expense. This
at last occurred; and Barry was sent out to spend five years in the
improvement of those attainments for which early perseveranct and
Dature had done so much.
In October, 1765, he set out on his way to Paris. There he con-
tinued ten months, making a more sure advance, and pursuing his
studies more judiciously than at any subsequent interval. He is to be
traced with unusual distinctness by his letters to Burke, Reynolds,
and others. In these his extraordinary powers of observation, thought,
and expression, are displayed with rich abundance, and from the same
we are also enabled with certainty and ease to trace the whole pro-
gress of his character, and to decide on the unhappy peculiarities
which clouded the entire of his after life, and closed his days in
misery. For this reason, it is upon this portion of his history that
we consider it worth while to expand our narration something more
than we have done, or shall continue to do after his return.
In Paris he applied himself with diligence, and, among other
studies, he constantly attended to the practice from living models in
the Hospital of St Luke. The independent, but in no slight degree
wrong-headed, turn of his mind, was perhaps shown in the strong con-
tempt for academies which he expressed at this time in some of his
very curious and interesting letters to Burke. His objections are (as
indeed mostly happens in such cases) partly founded in truth, but
proceed upon narrow and incomplete views. We shall discuss them
further on, when the subject will present stronger claims upon our
notice. Writing of them at this period, Barry says, " We have two
of them here, the academy of St Luke and the royal academy; there
are such mobs of blackguards go every night to acquire a trade
there, as is enough to shock any one who has the least regard for the
art. People send their children to make them painters and statuaries,
without learning, genius, or indeed anything else, only because it is
less expensive than making them perukiers or shoemakers." We quote
this sentence, because we think it indicates in a slight degree tenden-
cies which become more fully developed as we proceed. The strong
repugnance to be classed among the crowd — the dislike to beaten
paths (merely as such) — and a tendency to opposition arising from a
combative cast of temper, were dispositions not at any time wholly dor-
mant in the character of Barry, but soon to gain from circumstances
a peculiar and dangerous prominence. It must be the main object of
this memoir to bring these facts into a strong and clear light, because
whatever may be Barry's independent claim, his name has been ren-
dered extremely prominent in the history of art, by the zeal with which
two opposite parties have taken it up as an object of contention. The
consequence is, that his life, conduct, opinions and genius, have been
deeply involved in such misrepresentations as party conflicts ever pro-
duce.
His strictures on the state of art in France are judicious, original,
and curious. The brilliant monotony which was the result of an
entire want of character, remarkable alike in their paintings and
social state, are traced by him to the latter. " Character," he says,
k< in the different classes of men, is very little attended to by the
228 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
French artists, either painters or sculptors (though I think the last
very superior to the former), and indeed it is not to be wondered at,
since* even in life, it is entirely lost here; politeness, and an artificial
carriage, is too general amongst them; and, laying the garb aside, it
is only in dialect, or other refinements of expression or thought, they
differ; while everything in the gesticulation and all other externals
that are characteristic in art are visibly the same." With great just-
ness of thought, and the happiest force of language, he again pursues
the same topic, and shows the faults of the French school to be mainly
results of too much attention to mere ornament, and remarks the
analogous effects in poetry and oratory.
He left Paris in the autumn of 1766, for Italy. On his way he
wrote letters to Mr Burke, which yet remain, and manifest extraordi-
nary powers of observing and describing: his description of the
scenery of the valleys of Burgundy, of the passage over mount Cenis,
and the mountain regions beyond, are worthy of a master of the lyre
or pencil. The merit of these letters is strongly attested by the ad-
miration of Reynolds.
Rightly to understand the modifications which his character next
underwent, the reader must have before him some distinct ideas of the
scene of his studies after reaching Rome. This ancient city pos-
sessed a traditionary grandeur: its claim to the pre-eminence in art
and the ideas which belong to art was founded in time immemorial:
it possessed the remains of the great masters; its walls had been
animated by the touch of their genius, and the echo of their feet
might yet be conceived to linger among the venerable ruins of a more
ancient and noble antiquity. Here the students of art made their
pilgrimage from every other land, and it was the universal school of
the conoscenti and the artists. But from many causes, which we shall
not here investigate, the genius of Italian art had itself sustained a
long decay. The demand for works of art had ceased, and it had
become the taste and privilege of the Italians to teach, to criticise, and
to talk: possessing unbounded treasures of great works not to be
rivalled, much less surpassed, they seemed to repose on the fame of
the past, and to despair of further attainment. This decrepitude of the
genius of Rome had mainly arisen from a general languor of all the
processes of the social state: debarred from all those public objects
which rouse into action the more powerful energies of man, the upper
classes were abandoned to trifles, and the contests of vertu were in-
vested with an importance which was unknown elsewhere. The pub-
lic places, the studies, and every resort of art, taste, or learning, echoed
loudly with the fluent charlatenerie of all sorts of pretenders. To
give additional zest and spirit to such scenes, a trade was carried on
in spurious pictures; and, as in the great conflicts of political party,
principles were adopted and upheld which favoured the traffic of the
time.
Such a state of things was adapted to call forth together, the power
and the infirmity of Barry.
There were peculiarities in the mind of Barry which were so radi-
cally connected with his entire history, and so essential to the just
decision of some controverted points, that we are compelled to some-
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 229
thing more than our wonted minuteness in the statements concerning
this portion of his life. In him an extraordinary acuteness of percep-
tion was, as sometimes happens, combined with a morbid temperament,
in no small degree disposed to hypochondria. When such is the case,
it is very well known that this latter tendency has the effect of addi-
tionally quickening, while it, in some respects, misleads the observa-
tion. The hypochondriac, when far advanced in this disordered state,
while he exercises a singular promptness, penetration, and decision,
on indifferent matters, is mostly disposed to entertain false impres-
sions respecting those concerns immediately relating to his more pro-
minent interests or affections, and to be haunted by those diseased
suspicions which are observable in the most common cases of mania:
a state to which they lead, and perhaps in all cases might be con-
sidered to belong. These considerations are, with regard to Barry,
of serious importance. From not observing the distinction which they
tend to clear, one class of his critics and biographers have fallen into
the error of imputing to him moral vices, which were the result of a
sad infirmity, the fearful affliction of his life: and this disorder was
partly concealed by the justness, sagacity, and profound originality of his
writings. Such has been, for instance, the error of Mr Knight, whose
notices of this able but unfortunate man are discoloured by a tone of
vituperation amounting to malignity. While, on the other hand, his
enthusiastic followers and admirers have fallen into a style of pane-
gyric which has imposed on them the necessity of either omitting to
allow for, or misrepresenting the failings of his character. Hence we
have to steer between hostile delineations of Barry on one side, and, on
the other, imputations equally fallacious against his assailants, and to ex-
plain the case by keeping in view the leading principle of exposition.
Before Barry was long in Rome, the picture trade, of which it was
the great emporium, roused his irritable spleen. It excited his live-
liest indignation to see the frauds which degraded the art he loved.
His ambition, his love of excellence, and his honesty, were offended
by the spurious principles of art, according to which a false and cor-
rupt style was upheld for the purpose of maintaining a fraudulent
traffic. He saw nature and the laws of effect excluded, to secure
currency for the imitation of pictures which Time had more than half
obliterated. And being by nature of a controversial temper, ardently
alive to the honour as well as the theory of his art, and not much
experienced in the ways of life, he proclaimed his opinions without
reserve. So far he was only to be censured on the ground of pru-
dence. His deportment and language, honourable to his taste and
integrity, were eminently indiscreet. A little knowledge of the world
would have shown him that the corruptions of human nature are not
to be corrected by exposure or railing; that parties intrench their
wrongful motives in contempt and recrimination — a contest of which
the victory is ever to the strongest. Barry's notions were treated as
novel heresies, and those who would have failed to answer him, se-
curely launched the unanswerable sneer from the ambush of old pre-
judices. Exposed to this method of opposition, it will be easily appre-
hended how the morbid excitement to which he was liable would be
ere long called into action. Often foiled by a sophism, often repelled
230 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
by the smile of affected superiority, or silenced by the frigid counte-
nance of assumed indifference, he retired brooding over the repulse;
and, in his solitary moments, reacted the contest and accumulated new
bitterness and a sense of wrong. When such a captious mood became
habitual, he soon became jealous of words and looks ; and not unna-
turally began to imagine that his opponents, deeply interested as they
must be, were enemies. Not obtaining the facile acquiescence of
flattery from those to whom his sincerity was sometimes offensive, he
conceived himself to have become the marked object of hatred, and
thus presently became retiring, gloomy, and resentful. Such a change,
and the manners which it is apt to produce, were of course likely to
cause appearances which would seem to confirm this delusion. Hav-
ing become morose and repulsive, he was avoided ; and the general re-
serve of others appeared to verify the suspicion that he was the object
of a conspiracy. This was the result to which both his own temper,
and the conduct he had pursued, inevitably tended; and while under
its influence, he bore himself with increasing rudeness to his imagined
enemies, and resented that diminution of courtesy on their part which
was its excusable consequence. This, we may observe, is the most
important fact of Barry's life, which we are desirous to impress fully,
as offering the best illustration of much that seems to have been mis-
represented in the subsequent intervals of his life. Much, we are
thoroughly satisfied, has been unjustly construed to the prejudice
of others, which was the result of Barry's own infirmities, themselves
the effect of a partial derangement, which at this period began first to
be developed. Before we here part with the subject, we may confirm
our statement by the prediction of Mr Burke, contained in one of his
letters to Barry, and afterwards accurately fulfilled: — " Depend upon
it, that you will find the same competitions, the same jealousies, the
same arts and cabals, the same emulations of interest and of fame, and
the same agitations and passions here that you have experienced in
Italy. And if it have the same effects on your temper, it will have
the same effects on your interest; and, be your merit what it will, you
will never be employed to paint a picture. It will be the same in
London as at Rome ; and the same in Paris as in London ; for the
world is pretty nearly alike in all its parts," &c. We pass much of
unequalled good sense, shown in the most sound counsel, to extract the
part of the same admirable letter which is to our purpose: — " You
will come here ; you will observe what the artists are doing, and you
will sometimes speak your disapprobation in plain words, and some-
times in a no less expressive silence. By degrees, you will produce some
of your own works; they will be variously criticised; you will defend
them; you will abuse those who have attacked you; expostulations, dis-
cussions, letters, possibly challenges, will go forward ; you will shun your
brethren; they will shun you. In the meantime, gentlemen will avoid
your friendship, for fear of being engaged in your quarrels: you will fall
into distresses, which will only aggravate your disposition for further
quarrels. You will be obliged for your maintenance to do anything
for anybody; your very talents will depart, for want of hope and en-
couragement, and you will go out of the world fretted, disappointed,
and ruined." Were such our object, these very striking sentences
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 231
might be brought forward as an instance of the extent to which saga-
cious observation and sound reasoning may go in anticipating a class
of consequences, which are supposed not untruly to be the most diffi-
cult to human reason. They were indeed fulfilled with the minutest
precision. But our present object is the confirmation they offer to
the views by which we must explain the subsequent history of Barry;
and as this precision goes far to establish the correctness of assump-
tions and inferences which can be so verified, we shall further on
arrive at the application.
We must now proceed to the studies of Barry, they were no less
characteristic.
As might be anticipated, Barry was far more studious of the theory
than the practice of his art. His active understanding and rapid con-
ception were more ready than the slow and toilsome labour of the
hand. To men constituted with high intellectual power, it is perhaps
in all cases easier to think than work; to entertain questions than to
follow out the cautious and minute steps of other hands or minds.
The aspiring ambition of Barry, and his impatience of the pretension
of inferior minds, gave him a repugnance to the tedious mechanism,
which, though it be the first essential step to perfection, must level
for a while the gifted and the vulgar. He had already acquired a
considerable facility of hand, and he probably fell into a very natural,
and we believe not uncommon error — that of confounding the concep-
tion of the fancy with the execution of the pencil. While he stood ab-
stracted and absorbed among the great master-pieces of Italian genius,
and dreamed ideal grace of form, or analyzed composition and colour-
ing, he forbore to disturb his own anticipations of rival excellence by
subsiding into the anxious walk of manual effort.
Such were not precisely the best studies for the formation of a
finished artist; but, at the same time, they were admirably adapted
for the accomplishment of the great artistic critic and teacher. If
they did not conduce to his fortune, or eventually to his happiness, art
is indebted to them for much that is admirable in its theory. We are
at present concerned with the former.
His irritable impatience, and his strong propensity to frame opin-
ions and rush upon conclusions, were probably combined with his im-
patience of slow drudgery — which he conceived could lead to no
profitable result — to influence the course of study which he followed.
Instead of toiling to acquire a practical acquaintance with the re-
sources of colouring and the refinements of expression, he set out
with the study of effects and proportions by mere observation. In
point of fact he looked rather in the spirit of the poet and philosophi-
cal critic, than the artist. Considering his hand sufficiently trained,
and ignorant of the unlimited nature of that progress which is the
result of habit, he was led into the error of imagining that whatever
he could seize with his understanding, he could, when he might please,
execute with his pencil. With this conviction he abandoned himself
to the delights of contemplation and criticism. The great works of the
Vatican and the Capuella Sestina were to him as books ; and, if he was
led to make any occasional effort of a kind more strictly professional,
it was merely to obtain delineations by means of a machine, which,
232 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
without any exertion of skill, gave outlines and proportions. With
his actual skill, it must be admitted that this method might be suffi-
cient, so far as these elements of skill were concerned. But it must
necessarily have left much unlearned, that nothing but the utmost
labour and practice could impart. Having also adopted a preposses-
sion for that enlarged style of art which had, owing to some obvious
causes, become unsuited to the wants of the age, he neglected the
style in which all the prospects of art then lay involved.* It may, at
the same time, be easily seen how favourable was the course thus pur-
sued, not only for the critic, but also for the exercise of the inventive
powers. He thus acquired an extensive command of outline, group-
ing, and composition, and a facility in the conception of effects, such
as no power of mere manual skill could ever reach. Sketching was
also frequently resorted to — a useful practice, yet, for reasons which
we cannot here state with intelligible fulness, to be used with the
utmost caution.
On the course of his studies we meet much admirable and instruc-
tive commentary in the letters which he received from Mr Burke.
The strong and urgent remonstrances of this good and wise friend
had also the effect of dispelling, for a season, the black humours which
had begun prematurely to settle upon his temper and embitter his life.
For a while he forcibly repressed the ebullitions of spleen and dog-
matism, and entered into a more frank and kindly intercourse with
his brethren of the studio. The effect was a corresponding change in
their manners towards him, and he admitted his error and acknow-
ledged that he found courtesy, candour, and even kindness from those
whom savage manners and the unrepressed license of opposition had
alienated.
Among the most valuable remains of Barry, are the notices of art
which at this time form the main substance of his letters. These we
are compelled reluctantly to omit. In many of them the criticism of
art seems to us to be carried to a very high point of excellence.
In April, 1770, he left Rome. His progress homeward was retarded
for a considerable time in Boulogne by an accident which delayed
his remittances, and was productive of much distress and mortification.
When this untoward affair was set right, he was further delayed by
obtaining his election as an honorary member of the Clementine
academy — as the usual custom, on such occasions, required the pre-
sentation of a painting, he of course remained to discharge this obli-
gation. He chose the subject of Philoctetes in the Isle of Lemnos,
following the Greek epigram on an ancient picture upon the same sub-
ject, with the help of the drama of Sophocles.
The morning of British art was already far advanced, when Barry
arrived a second time in London, to accomplish, as he might, the
favourable expectations of his friends. He had been ushered into
notice with a perilous splendour, under the star of Burke. He was
* Much of the explanation here offered is more largely, and therefore more
clearly stated, in a memoir of Barry, in the Dublin University Magazine, Nos.
11*7 and 118, in 1842, from which this memoir has been drawn up and several
passages taken. No marks of acknowledgment have been thought necessary, a?
both memoirs have been written by the same author.
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 233
aware that the hour of preparation was past, and that he must at
length redeem the promise of admitted genius and costly outlay, by
some proportional result.
He painted two pictures: one was Venus rising from the waves;
the other Jupiter and Juno. According to the accounts of these, the
first obtained general praise, and was considered equal to the preten-
sions of the artist. The second was more coldly received. Of the
opinions which we have met in the writers on Barry, we are inclined
to think the praise too indiscriminate and full of zeal to have much
weight, while, on the other hand, the censure is impaired by too evi-
dent a tinge of malignity. Forming an estimate from both, we are
inclined to judge favourably of these compositions as to conception,
composition, correct design, and poetical effect, and unfavourably as
to the colouring. The painting of Venus rising from the sea was
probably the more successful, inasmuch as it did not very much put to
the test his skill as a colourist, and we may add that such an estimate
is conformable with the style of study which we have described.
The success of one so largely and variously endowed as Barry cannot
be supposed to have for a moment rested upon the fortune of any
single effort or season; nor can it reasonably be doubted that his talent,
enthusiasm, and industry, if rightly directed, were sufficient to place
him high among the great masters of every age and nation; even
though it may be allowed that it is a nice and delicate question to
settle what, under actual circumstances, he did attain. He had in his
favour the prepossession of the highest minds of the time. It was
also in some degree favourable to his success, that Reynolds advocated
the theory of which Barry was the devotee; if, indeed, it may not be
more just to say, that it was an unfortunate circumstance which gave
so high a sanction to the error of which he was eventually the martyr.
His powers of conversation, and, above all, in the expositions of art-
istic theory, must have added much to his reputation; and the
more, as these gifts were set in the fairest light by the circle of his
friends and patrons. It was also fortunate for Barry that the state of
art was yet in the commencement of a period — there was the charm
of novelty and of a fresh and vigorous impulse, while there was not the
exacting fastidiousness of a long-disciplined taste.
But, on the other hand, there were many, and these not slight ob-
stacles, some from circumstances, and some in himself. Though Rey-
nolds concurred with him in the advocacy of a style, his practice was
precisely opposed to his doctrines. This opposition has been consi-
dered insincere ; but this is a point which we would hesitate to main-
tain. The sagacity of Reynolds at once put him in full possession of
the truth, that the grand style which he praised, was not that which
could lead to wealth. It was no part of his ambition to paint for
Fame, who but too often presides with empty purse over the loftier
aspirations of genius. He knew that there was no place or scope for
pictures twenty feet by twelve ; and that there did not yet exist the
taste which might afford to reimburse the expenses of their produc-
tion ; it was no part of his ambition to sustain his dogmas by presenta-
tions to public societies of the best results of his life and industry.
In addition to the adoption of an unprofitable line of art, Barry had,
234 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
in common with the artists of his day, to contend with a false taste,
which had long been contracted in the actual commerce of art. Of
this we shall say a little, farther on. But, as will be seen in the whole
course of this memoir, the great obstacles to his success arose out of
the unhappy tendencies of his own mind.
Before we further proceed to trace the events of his history, it
will be necessary to give some account of the institutions with which
they are essentially combined.
The Society of Arts, Commerce, and Manufactures, was the natural
result from the rapid prosperity of English trade. It was founded in
1750, and had the merit of first establishing a school of drawing in
the kingdom. Its patronage was gradually extended, and it began to
offer premiums for sculpture and paintings. Such facts are mostly
themselves the result of some tendency in the time ; and, consequently,
may be regarded as the indications, as well as causes, of something to
follow. The impulse thus given may be supposed to have had its effect;
but the artists soon began to feel its insufficiency. They began to
hold meetings for the establishment of an academy. Several years
elapsed while they exerted themselves with most commendable zeal and
perseverance to promote instruction in the several departments of art.
Besides the resources of private instruction, they made a gratuitous
offer to decorate the walls of the Foundling Hospital. By such efforts,
the public attention, already prepared for the impulse, was fully ex-
cited. The artists perceived their time: they petitioned the Society
of Arts for the use of its chambers, for the purpose of an exhibition.
The society acceded, and with a liberality which attests their disin-
terested zeal, the artists admitted the public to a gratuitous exhibition
in 1760. Some dispute arose between the society and the artists,
of whom the principal in the next year opened their exhibition in
Spring Gardens. The second exhibition was, like the first, gratui-
tous. But as this could not long be sustained, the moderate price of
one shilling was in the following year adopted. Besides the artists,
the leading literary men of the day took an efficient part, by the
strong advocacy of the press. A charter was the next step; the king
was petitioned, and they were incorporated in 1765. There were,
however, in this first incorporation, defects which were fatal to a pro-
longed existence; and the result was a secession, a new charter, and
finally, the institution of the Royal Academy, which held its first
meeting in December, 1768, when Reynolds, whom they elected as
their president, delivered his inaugural address.
With this great institution, an era in the history of art, is connected
the most important portion of poor Barry's history. It is at once
apparent how, with his vast abilities and his able and powerful friends,
it ought to have been the means of advancing both his fortune and
fame.
But it was replete with low and inflammable elements, which are
inseparable from every public body of a popular structure ; and from
which, perhaps, the most rigid principles of election are not too much
to guard the most refined corporate institutions to the full extent
that might be desirable; and when contention, intrigue, or malversa-
tion, of whatever nature, could find a place, the keen discrimination,
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 235
the prompt suspicion, and the fierce spleen of Barry, were sure to
entangle him in the fierce animosities which they must generate.
Such is actually the main principle with which we must be forced to
deal. On this subject fierce controversy has been raised by critics
and biographers, which it must be our duty to enter fully.
At the time of Barry's return, the Academy had been three years
in existence ; — and his first two pictures appeared with much effect on
its walls. Of the Venus we have spoken: the other was also admir-
able in conception. In this he followed the poetry of Homer, and
the tradition of a picture on the same subject by Phidias, — the greatest
poet and the greatest sculptor of antiquity. The subject acquired
an additional interest from the tradition that the sculptor's work had
been an attempt to imbody the idea of the bard.
'11 xai xuKvitjfftv \<jf otpgurt VIV/TI K.(ioviuv
tfagct ^alrou ttfiggooravTu ctvaxres
The conception was at least worthy of a great and adventurous
genius, but was assuredly such as to task to the uttermost powers of
the highest order. His next attempt, in the succeeding year, was less
fortunate.
A few years passed, of which it will not be necessary to relate the
incidents, further than they may in some instances have been obtruded
on public attention by the acrimony of party. Among these, the
most important is the charge of ingratitude towards Mr Burke. This
charge has been urged with exceeding severity; but its real import-
ance is derived from its being made use of as an instance to give
force to other similar charges, and to put a foul and malignant con-
struction upon his entire history. The facts are as follow: — Doctor
Brocklesby wished to obtain a portrait of Mr Burke, and desired to
have it from the hand of Barry. Mr Burke's pressing avocations
caused an irregularity in his attendance. Barry, whose mind had be-
come extremely sore on the point of his own respectability, and who
was specially hurt at supposed slights from Mr Burke, evidently set the
irregularity down to contempt. He was, under this false impression,
not unnaturally impelled to assert his wounded self-importance, as well
as the honour of his profession, by disappointing Mr Burke whenever
he found time to call, and putting him off under different pretences.
This continued for nearly two years, after which Mr Burke began to
feel his feelings of friendship wounded by treatment which must have
seemed unkind, and also became sensible that his repeated and abortive
calls for such a purpose might be interpreted into motives of vanity.
Under such impressions, he wrote a letter to Barry, of an explanatory
and apologetic nature. But Barry could only look on the matter
through the medium of his own impression, and considered this letter
as a severe and cutting irony. He replied by complaining of it as an
attack upon his peace of mind, and by vindicating the rights of his
profession. Mr Burke explained; the quarrel was ended; the por-
trait finished; and the friendship continued unbroken. This state-
ment may be allowed to be unfavourable to Barry, inasmuch as it
displays the workings of false pride and of a diseased irritability.
But from these imputations we do not mean, and it would be vain, to
236 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
defend him. The far deeper charge of an entire disregard to the
claims of gratitude and friendship — a charge which amounts to utter
baseness — has been urged; now, the first-mentioned charges (if they
deserve the name) contain the full and sufficient answer to the second,
and are therefore rather in Barry's favour than against him. Though
it would be impossible to vindicate a thorough insensibility to the claims
of friendship and gratitude, it is too well understood to need explana-
tion, that these sentiments, when really entertained, are such as to make
any slight be more keenly felt; and that where there is, as in the in-
stance of Barry, a deep taint of morbid sensitiveness, such slights are
very usually imagined. It matters nothing to the question that such
impressions are mere illusion — they are the illusion of disease — the
object of pity, not of blame. Now, while it appears abundantly that
such was Barry's disease, there is special ground for assuming its
operation in the case before us. With the deepest veneration and
strongest affection for Mr Burke, and the most anxious jealousy con-
cerning his regard, Barry had already suffered his mind to become
warped into the very course of rivalship and party animosity already
explained and predicted by Mr Burke himself. He had begun to
feel and to resent the real and the fancied errors and abuses of art,
and the false directions of public taste. With these unfortunate dis-
positions, he saw with pain, that the entire leaning of Mr Burke's
mind was with those whom he set down as his enemies, because they
were not his adherents ; all that was to be anticipated from the ten-
dencies of his mind was already taking place, and to be felt in his
manner and conversation long before it decided his conduct. He was,
at the same time, more advanced in his claims to consideration, and
less within the constraint of advice and influence. He very naturally
rated his own genius, skill, and theory of art, on the highest level;
and deeply resented the preference which he considered as grounded
in the rejection of those claims and those opinions. For these he was
zealous even to martyrdom, and we therefore think that his resent-
ment is to be held quite exempt from every imputation but those of
an excusable jealousy and an unhappy disease. To those who may
think that too much stress is here laid on the incident, we must
observe that it has a special claim to our consideration ; as it has,
even by Barry's admirers, been unthinkingly given up as a case
of discreditable ingratitude. If Barry's offence deserves so revolting
an appellation, we think it, at least, something to prove that it did
not originate in the ordinary source, or involve the base heartless-
ness which makes ingratitude a hateful vice. The mind that, like
Barry's, becomes isolated by so many causes — disease, error, pride,
the enthusiasm of theory — must be viewed as an exception from the
common rules of social opinion. Those who can conceive the true
position of one who exists in the elevation of his own conceptions,
and who must measure himself and others by a peculiar scale, will feel
at once the force with which he was likely to resent the decided pre-
ference of Mr Burke for Reynolds.
Barry's life was a dream of the full restoration of the splendours
of ancient art : his spirit communed from afar with Raphael and
Michael Angelo — and in the actual impulse of his day, he saw a dawn
PERIOD.] JAMES BARKY. 237
of glory in the approaching restoration of the great style. In principle
(at least) he was not alone ; but he differed from his brethren in dis-
interestedness. He admitted no prudential reserves, or saw no im-
possibilities. For a moment, too, there appeared a promise of success
sufficient to impose on the credulity of hope. There still lingered, among
the cognoscenti, some remains of the old impression, that one of the main
objects of art was the illustration of Scripture and the decoration of
churches. In their zeal, the artists proposed to embellish St Paul's
Cathedral. The Dean and Chapter consented before they had taken
time to deliberate: and the leading artists of the day, with a most laud-
able alacrity, prepared to enter on the undertaking. Barry had been
himself the mover of the project — he was now chosen by the Academy
with Reynolds, West, and four other artists of the first eminence, to
carry it into execution. Barry's picture was to have been Christ
rejected; but it must be looked on as a matter of course, that such a
scheme could not exist many days without interruption, as one wholly
alien from the spirit of the Church of England. The Bishops of
London and Canterbury interfered, and thus defeated a design which
may have been favourable to art, but which was certainly not so to
Christianity. Barry, whose zeal for art had gained the exclusive
possession of his understanding, fiercely resented the supposed wrong.
But the question was thus introduced, and the project became a
subject of curious and eager discussion. The Society of Arts seems
to have seized on the occasion to find a vent for the liberality of the
Academy. But the artists, too, had their second thoughts, their
prudence had time to interfere, and when the society offered them
permission to decorate its ample walls, at their own cost, they declined
an offer of such equivocal liberality. Barry was again incensed, — his
indignation drove him to his pen, and he wrote an essay inquiring into
" The Real and Imaginary Obstructions to the Progress of Art in
England." Of this able essay it is fit to give a more full account, as
the topic is one of much interest, and its discussion of the proposed
subject creditable to the ability of its gifted author.
The argument of this able work had been, it is probable, long
ripening in his mind; and was first suggested at Rome by the taunts
of foreigners, who had adopted the theories of Montesquieu, Winkle-
man, and Du Bos, all of whom had affirmed the inaptitude for art of
the British genius. The manner and the matter of Barry's reply
are alike valuable. To refute this absurd and presumptuous assertion,
he went largely into the history of ancient art, by which he was
enabled to expose the argument on which these writers mainly
depended. From the various characteristics of the several schools
of art, they plausibly inferred the existence in each of some modifying
cause peculiar to the climate or the people, which determined, in each,
the prevailing characteristic. It is easy to see how such a principle
could be applied against a nation where the progress of art had been
inert and dull, — and it is not hard to perceive that such a theory
offered no slight difficulties to an opponent: for the real originating
causes of style (whatever they may be), are so far complex, incidental,
and transient in their nature, as to have no distinct indications by
which they can be traced with facility. Thus when they had alleged
238 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
the fine colouring and faulty design of the Venetian ; the faulty col-
ouring and rigid delineation of the Florentine ; the grace and elevation
of the Romans; the clumsiness of the Flemish; the poverty and vul-
garity of the Dutch; it was by no means easy to escape the conclusion
of the theorists. The differences are not only distinct and well
marked, but, in fact, have in some of the cases a considerable adapta-
tion of the very kind contended for. But Barry's acuteness and in-
dustry were not baffled by such a difficulty; by a close inquiry, he ascer-
tained so much of the original causes of these differences, as to make
it quite plain that they were in their nature mainly incidental — as he
succeeded in distinctly tracing them, in numerous cases, to the imita-
tion of individuals who had been the masters or disciples of other
schools and the natives of other countries. For example, he traces
the Venetian Giorgione to the following of Leonardo the Florentine.
It is indeed, when once suggested, evident enough how the peculiarities
of one gifted individual will become transfused as the characteristics
of a school: so that any theory exclusive of this plain fact, must fall to
the ground. We cannot avoid, however, adding that the refutation of
the argument does not necessarily decide upon the question. \Ye must
also confess, that had not the actual progress of art decided the fact,
we should feel much difficulty to remain. We cannot but feel that
comparing the Dutch, the Italian, arid the French schools of art, there
are in them differences plainly and undeniably characteristic of the
nation, and strictly conformable to its moral and intellectual tendencies
as otherwise shewn. But the fault of Winkleman and his colleagues
is, that they have first proved their position from fallacious instances,
and then made too much of it even if it were granted. It is not very
difficult, were we engaged in a full inquiry, to distinguish between the
peculiarities derived from the individual and those derived from the
race or climate. It is easy to see that certain modifications of temper
and mind are prevalent in certain families, races, and countries; that
also they have severally their local habitudes of mind arising from the
scenery, history, and religion of a place. But when all may be exhausted
that learning or ingenuity can suggest, there are strong facts which should
entirely have arrested the sweeping restrictions of the theory. We might
grant that a nation may exist of which the constitution is unfavourable
to art: we can admit the fancy of Beotian dulness. But there was no
time when the principle could have fairly applied to England. Eng-
land might be without a school of art. But the country of Chaucer,
Spenser, Shakspeare, Jonson, Milton, and their fellows — an unparalleled
display of all the higher faculties of the mind, could not, without an
absurdity not easily exceeded, be supposed by any defect of any kind,
unless the actual want of hands and eyes, unfavourable to art. The
direct contrary could indeed have been more easily inferred. The
same causes which have multiplied poets and schools of poetry so
marked and diversified, must have similarly operated with regard to
painting: and such has been the actual effect. The same free institu-
tions which have allowed the human tendencies and faculties to ex-
pand unconstrained in every direction, were actually the means of
breaking down the prejudice and mannerism which had so long
arrested the progress of art. England may have wanted Italian skies
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 239
and Alpine heights, or the antique splendours and graces of temple and
palestra: but the towering, pervading, and apprehensive imagination;
the ready and grasping intelligence ; the untrammelled appropriation
and application that spurns aside prejudices and advances with a free
and decided footstep to real results, belong to England only. The
reasonings which had then imposed on the age, were not indeed very
difficult to deal with — but to the crowd, any notion which seems to
explain an existing state of things, always bears conviction. The
sagacity of Barry penetrated the dull theory which time has since
scattered into oblivion.
Among the important topics which Barry was led to discuss, there
was none more important than the corruption of taste, which had
been the result of the long continued frauds of the picture dealers and
the large importations of the rubbish of foreign imitation. As time
had impaired the colouring, while it increased the price of these pre-
cious and venerable remains, a taste was formed which had their defects
for its groundwork; and vicious or defective habits of the eye were
necessarily to be satisfied by the painter. The artist followed the
imitations of taste, and in successive generations departed more and
more from nature. Thus art had been for some time under a course
of gradual decline from its proper type, and had acquired a character
essentially at variance with its primary intent; a well browned and
blackened piece of wood, framed in tarnished gold, could, by the force
of association, possess a charm beyond the most costly furniture. The
new and brilliant style, then in its birth, though vitiated by this crazed
corruption of taste, was, nevertheless, little in accordance with it; it
was a new heresy springing in the hotbed of an old superstition, and
was the more likely to be ill received, because it tended to depreciate
many a costly collection. A false system of art helped to maintain
the price of many a spurious gem, as well as of many a decayed
masterpiece, which age had reduced to the shadow of a shade. Con-
sidering this, there was much boldness in the denunciation which
invaded the repose of collections of ancient art, and stripped them of
many of their boasted ornaments. Barry's essay was received with
interest in the literary circle; and would have been of less qualified
advantage to his professional prospects but for- the fanaticism which
animated him against all whom he looked upon as opponents, and led
him to intersperse the latter part of his book with sarcastic hits,
which, as he explained in his letter to Mr Burke, " alluded to certain
matters agitated among artists, and were satires upon some of them."
On this Mr Burke commented with the frankness and dignity insepar-
able from his character. " With regard to the justice or injustice of
these strictures (of which there are several in the latter part of the
book) Mr Burke can form no opinion. As he has little or no know-
ledge of the art, he can be no judge of the emulations and disputes
among its professors; these parts may, therefore, for aught he knows,
be very grateful and possibly useful to the several parties which sub-
sist (if any subsist) among themselves, but he apprehends they will
not be equally pleasing to the world at large, which rather desires to
be pleased with their works, than troubled with their intentions.
Whatever merit there may be in these reflections, the style of that
240 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
part which most abounds with them is by no means so lively, elegant,
clear, or liberal as the rest." We should balance this stricture with
the compliment contained in the same letter — it is, we have no doubt,
equally merited and as sincere. He thanks Barry for the early com-
munication of his " most ingenious performance on painting, from
several parts of which he has received no small pleasure and instruc-
tion. There are throughout the whole many fine thoughts and observa-
tions very well conceived, and very powerfully and elegantly expressed."
It may be admitted that there is in the tone of this letter something
more of cold formality than may appear consistent with the terms of a
long-standing friendship, and this, we have no doubt, has had a share
in suggesting the assumption that the recent quarrel had not been made
up — other incidents, however, which we cannot now afford to mention,
offer much stronger grounds for the opposite inference. But it is much
to the purpose of illustration which we have in view to observe, that there
were, on Mr Burke's part, some very apparent reasons for a change of tone,
and for the preservation of a certain degree of reserve, without supposing
any diminution of kindness. Mr Cunningham has, we think, settled
this point well, and we have only to transcribe his remarks ; premising
that Barry had become the fierce and bitter opponent of Reynolds and
others with whom Mr Burke was on terms of the strictest intimacy.
Mr Cunningham observes, " To continue on intimate terms with one
so fierce of nature, it was necessary to become his partizan; he expected
those who loved him should share his grief, and resent whatever he
thought worthy of resentment." Such contests as those implied by Mr
Cunningham, had not only imbittered the temper of Barry, but created
much animosity against him. He was now fairly fulfilling the predic-
tions of Mr Burke, and had thoroughly, and with a sad increase, fallen
back into the very disease from which the remonstrances of that kind
and discerning friend had roused him in his Italian sojourn. The
malady of his temper and constitution had arisen to its height, and he
was no longer accessible to the influence or exhortations of others.
Self-reliance, and a strict and combative pertinacity, the faults of his
nature, were confirmed by habit. He had outlived all submission and
deference to precedent or authority. Having embraced a system, he
considered the superior power of reasoning, and the just views of art with
which he could enforce it, as establishing the theory itself so unques-
tionably, that those who disagreed must be his enemies. Like all men
of the same cast of intellect, he had no respect for time, place, or cir-
cumstances ; and could admit no motive but the pure and simple devo-
tion of a creed. Without presuming to decide upon the actual merits
of that creed, we may assert that Barry was a fanatic to its power.
He grew reserved, solitary, and morose, and was entirely wrapt in his
dreams of triumphs and enmities. That the latter were sadly realized,
cannot be doubted. Such men must have enemies. A man cannot
long choose to live on terms of enmity with the world without creating
the enmity he imagines. And he who keeps apart and ceases to cul-
tivate the intimacies and friendships, or to regard the moral feeling of
society, will, sooner than he thinks, be thrown aside from the current
of existence, and be forgotten and neglected by his acquaintances and
friends. Enmity has more lasting recollections, for pride and self-
PERIOD.! JAMES BARRY. 241
regard are in the common crowd more vital than pure benevolence.
The retreat of Barry, while it sequestered him from the charities of
life, was not the abode of serenity or content. While he fed a vindic-
tive spirit with visions of fancied persecution, he was no less alert
in contriving real mortifications and injuries for supposed adversaries,
and in making formidable enemies for himself. Of this we shall have
to offer melancholy illustrations.
But above all, the magnificent scheme of vindicating his professional
creed by some vast work of unprecedented and surpassing splendour and
sublimity, filled and fired the painter's breast, and burned more intensely
in the desolation he had made for himself: and at last, after sustaining
repeated disappointments, he adopted a course which amply illustrates
the intense devotedness of his zeal, and the stern concentration of his
purposes.
In the year 1777, he offered to decorate the rooms of the " Society
for the Improvement of Arts, &c.," gratuitously with paintings. The
offer was accepted. When this offer was made he possessed no income,
and his entire means are said to have consisted of the sum of sixteen
shillings. On this task, the next following seven years of his life were
employed, with an industry impatient only of rest. As his labour
supplied no means of subsistence, he was compelled to supply his wants
by the severest extra labour; the greater part of the night was spent
in drawing for the printshops. But Barry was characteristically insen-
sible to privations; he was by nature ascetic, and while his spirit nou-
rished itself with lofty imaginings, he was, perhaps, quite content with
the bread and apples, which are said to have been his principal fare
during most of this interval. It was the happiest portion of his life
— he had at last obtained that fair field, which is the craving desire of
genius, and was too enthusiastic to doubt of success.
We may pass this quiet interval, and come at once to the result.
His undertaking was accomplished in 1783. The pictures were in
number six, each eleven feet ten inches in height: two were forty-two
feet in breadth, and the other four fifteen feet two inches. It was
their object to illustrate the development of the industrial resources
of society in a series of allegorical representations. He begins with
the story of Orpheus ; in his second picture he represents a harvest
scene, with a festival of Ceres and Bacchus ; navigation occupies its
order in the third, which depicts the "Triumph of the Thames;" a
compliment to the society was paid in the representation of their dis-
tribution of prizes in the fourth. In the fifth, with a singular want of
moral keeping, he brings the spectator back to the Elysian fields.
The society repaid his art by a vote of 250 guineas, which may then
have been thought not illiberal, but which would now be no adequate
compensation for a picture of four feet by three, if worth anything.
Their gold medal was, however, added, and an honorary seat.
It would be affectation to pretend to a rigid estimate of these
paintings, which we have not seen. As, however, the estimate in-
volves the character of Barry as an artist, we shall sum the opinions
of his chief critics, and state the balance to the best of our judgment.
They who have praised them the most warmly, rest their praise mainly
Q
242 LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
on the qualities of design and composition, the power of conception,
the wide grasp of knowledge, and the profuse variety of groupings and
attitudes: the force of the style has also heen praised, as well as the
occasional felicity of expression. The " Victors at Olympia " has been
allowed merits of the highest order ; and some of the figures in the
" Final Retribution" have been spoken of in terms adequate to any
praise that art will ever deserve. In all this there is little inconsistent
with our opinion of the native powers of Barry — in fact, these praises
imply more of natural genius than of attainment. But it cannot be
denied that such praises are, after all, but splendid generalities, which
lose much of their value when we consider them as opposed to
censures which question or deny the merits of artistic skill. On the
score of colouring, his admirers are silent, or admit his remarkable
deficiencies. They who, on the other side, are unfavourable in their
accounts of Barry — and it must be allowed they are critics (some of
them artists), of no mean authority — affirm that, with some excep-
tions, his pictures are as badly drawn as they are allowed to be unskil-
fully coloured. If something is to be deducted for the animosity of
tone — which indicates the critic to have been biassed by personal re-
collections— similar allowance is to be made for the enthusiasm and
party-feeling which amplifies his praises. It is to be added, that the
censures are not directly combated, and are apparently maintained
with far more skill and knowledge. We are, on the whole, inclined
to judge that, if the merits of Barry are fairly weighed together,
they will appear to justify alike the praise and censure, though not
the tone of spleen on one side, or exaggeration on the other. The
impressions they have made seem to have depended on the character
of the observer. Men like Burke and Johnson are easily warmed into
admiration by an art not their own, as they are more ready to seize
on the happy conception than to apprehend the presence of a mere
artistic imperfection; and it ought also to be allowed, that their praises
must at least be some test of the species of merit of which they were
the best judges. But the same allowance has its weight in either
scale : the keen dispraise of Mr Knight cannot be rated at less than
an indication of those defects, of which he was so eminently a judge.
The alert and active understanding will seize on very slight hints,
and find mighty meanings where the author or artist has but poor
and trifling intents; and a vivacious but shallow astuteness will
pass over the broad and deep, to seize minute absurdities. All this
is the common incident of criticism. But with respect to Barry, it
must not be forgotten that the drawing and colouring are the main
elements of his art : if he has really presented the noblest thoughts in
the worst executed painting, he may be praised as a poet or a philo-
sopher, but he cannot be exemplified as the model of an artist. All
this, while we apprehend it must go to condemn those pictures which
are so strangely praised and censured, cannot touch the true genius of
Barry. Imperfectly trained in the mechanism of his profession, and
therefore defective in its manual departments, he had all the powers
and all the genius essential to its highest walk. He had that which
no teaching can impart — the most elevated and just conceptions of the
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 243
real power and capabilities of his art. But the most profound mas-
tery of theory is yet far from artistic skill in practice; and he is more
to be considered as a philosopher than an artist.
The success of these pictures was, nevertheless, very considerable:
there was a novelty and a boldness in the attempt ; the British public,
less conversant with paintings than it has since, perhaps, become,
was not nice in the perception of critical demerits, and was captivated
by the rich variety, the symbolical meaning, the numerous likenesses
of living persons, and the impression of power and skill stamped
roughly on the whole. The known reputation of Barry did its part,
and far inferior drawings would have been admired by a public pre-
pared to admire. A letter was written by some anonymous hand, con-
taining much able criticism; it has been very generally assigned to
Mr Burke. A writer in the Edinburgh Review is of the opposite opin-
ion, on grounds in which we partly agree. The opinions expressed
in that letter, do not seem to be those of Mr Burke. The Scottish
critic objects also on the ground of style. This, as we agree with his
conclusion, is not worth disputing; but we think that the style of the
letter, though unlike that of Mr Burke's political writings, is very
much the same as that of his ascertained private letters.
We must next pass on to his connexion and disputes with the Royal
Academy. The relation must lead us to the most dark and melan-
choly evidences of the truth of the view which we have taken in this
memoir. In 1782, he had been elected Professor of Painting to the
Academy. He was at the time deeply engrossed by his paintings,
and could not easily command time for the lectures, which it was his
duty to deliver before the students. He was in consequence repri-
manded by the president, whom he answered with a degree of asperity
which plainly shows the progress that had at this time been made
by the fatal disorder which was the real source of all the sufferings
and misfortunes which clouded his latter years. It becomes, indeed,
painfully apparent, that the hypochondriac temperament, which had
shown itself so detrimentally in his early life, had now assumed the
entire control of his mind, and gave its character to his whole con-
duct. The lectures which he subsequently delivered, afforded the
first occasion for its effective display; they became the vehicle of his
angry feelings, and thus gave offence to most of his brethren.
But in addition to this moral source of enmity, his zeal for the
theory of art which he maintained, was that of a gloomy fanatic,
jealous "even to slaying." His enthusiasm had no allowance for those
considerations which regulate the intercourse of the world; and he
was not more earnest than vindictive in his inculcation of the supe-
rior claims of the " great style" of art. He thus omitted nothing
either in his lectures or conversation, that could have the effect of
causing him to be looked on with not unjustifiable enmity. Against
the trade part of the profession, he railed and sneered without con-
straint, and did not spare even Reynolds. He was treated by his
brother artists with great forbearance ; but it is impossible to avoid
the admission, that a feeling must have been generated, which must
sooner or later operate to his prejudice.
The occasion was not slow to offer. He had proposed in the Aca-
24-i LITERARY SERIES. [FlFTH
demy, that their funds should be appropriated to the purchase of Italian
paintings, for models to illustrate his lectures. The measure was
highly inexpedient — as his own statement shows — and the Academy
refused compliance. The resentment of Barry vented itself with un-
scrupulous violence and publicity, in charges of a kind which, if not
hurtful, were certainly offensive and derogatory.' This could not be
endured, or even in prudence suffered to pass. It cannot be allowed
that any member of a corporate body should be permitted to infringe
those laws by which every such body exists. In March, 1799> charges
were brought against the professor of painting, and he was deprived
of his professorship, and expelled. Of this decision, opposite views
have been maintained. We partly disagree with each.. We think he
was justly expelled; but we do not think his trial was fairly conduct-
ed. We have not space to discuss the point, but have fully stated our
view elsewhere.*
On the remainder of his life it is needless to dwell. It offers no
question; and though full of gloomy interest, this could only be
brought out to advantage by means of details for which we have no
space.
The profits of his two exhibitions amounted to £500, which, with
the vote of the society, gave altogether £750; and this was probably
the entire sum realized by his professional labours. Soon after his
expulsion from the Academy, a subscription was raised for his sup-
port, by the influence and personal exertion of the earl of Buchan.
Of this, the result was £1000, with which an annuity for his life was
purchased. He did not enjoy it long. In February, 1806, he was
seized with a pleuritic attack in the street. It was so severe as to sus-
pend all power of motion and speech. He was conveyed to his own
house; but owing to some disrepair of the lock of his door, his friends
were unable to gain admittance; and after much severe exposure,
which may have increased the effect of his disease, he was taken to
the house of a kind friend. After due attention was paid to his
immediate wants, a bed was procured for him in a neighbouring
house. Here he neglected to look for medical aid; but with the
peculiar wilfulness of his temper, locked himself up for two days,
during which he suffered severe pain, and underwent mortal changes,
which timely bleeding might have averted. He became himself
alarmed, and communicated with a friend. Remedies were actively
resorted to; but it was too late. He lingered for about a fortnight,
when he expired, 22d February, 1806. His remains, after lying in
state in the society's rooms at the Adelphi, were interred in St. Paul's
cathedral.
His real merits are to be estimated by his writings. He possessed
the highest powers of the poet and the philosopher; and was perhaps
second to none in the natural gifts of the painter. But while he was
in a measure deficient in the intellectual culture essential to the
former, he was as loosely disciplined in the mechanical training on
which the second must depend. But his native promptness, clearness
of apprehension and observation, his habit of reflection, his enthu-
* D. U. Magazine.
PERIOD.] JAMES BARRY. 245
siasm for his art, his industry arid perseverance, operated together, so
far as concerned the mind, in the place of education, and made him a
great master of the theory of his art. His paintings — which we are
compelled to estimate from the description of friends and enemies-
are perhaps the splendid indications of the insufficiency of the high-
est powers, without the severe discipline to which the artist is mostly
compelled to submit in order to attain the command of the mechanism
of that language which constitutes his mode of expression ; but his
letters and lectures still remain the monuments of power, taste, and
judgment, of which there can be no doubt, and which still constitute
a most valuable part of the artist's library.
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
TO SIXTH PERIOD,
EXTENDING
FROM THE DEATH OF GEORGE III. TO THE PRESENT TIME:
WITH
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES
07
iitetinsufe&ea Erfefimen
WHO FLOURISHED DURING THAT PEBIOD.
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
SIXTH PERIOD.
WE have hitherto endeavoured to preface the main divisions of this
history each with a rapid, but not inaccurate sketch, of the more gene-
ral characteristics and tendencies which appeared to be discoverable
in the history of the times to which they had relation. We do not
consider this part of our labour to be now either as desirable, or as
easy to perform.
During the lapse of many centuries, it was not a matter of extreme
difficulty to tracejamid numerous changes, a still slow on ward tendency,
which though much extended and variously interrupted, was still
potentially in existence, and perceptibly advancing the growth of civi-
lization. It was by the close observation of this tendency, that we
endeavoured to understand the progress of the world, and to find a
light where the authorities which we had to trust to, afford none. Of
this we shall have to speak largely at a future period. We have now
but to observe, that we do not think the remainder of the task before
us demands any such preliminary expositions. Most of what we should
have to state under the head of introduction, has been anticipated in
the immediately previous period. But, in reality, the few memoirs of
any importance, which now remain, are not such as to lead to these
considerations, further than may well be provided for when occasion
may require.
We have hitherto been engaged in the treatment of historical events
and changes: our notice of persons has been rather subsidiary to such
a purpose, than directly the subject of our statements. But in what
remains, the case is reversed. The history of our last period must be
written hereafter; for much of it has passed within the time of the
existing generation— all that remains to be noticed, is the Present in
substance and spirit. The same questions continue to be agitated,
though under altered circumstances, and with a vast accession of ani-
mosities, mistakes, and perplexities. The long progress of social
change, through ages accumulating both matter and motion, has at
last arrived at a degree of breadth and acceleration wholly beyond
precedent ; insomuch, that the social world seems to have approached
the last term of a long progression, and to offer a moral and social
problem, which increases in complication and difficulty in proportion
as it is more attentively and more comprehensively studied. We are
250 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
happy to feel absolved for the present, from a discussion, which can-
not, as we see it, be effectively prosecuted within any compass which
we have at our disposal. If we agreed with the opinions of any one
great section of the public, it would be easy to refer to much able and
intelligent statement; but large differences of opinion are not to be
briefly asserted without the appearance of rashness or eccentricity ;
and we disagree with all the main great parties with which we have
any acquaintance in some very important respects. We do not believe,
with one great body for whose principles we entertain the utmost
respect, that the social world can either stand still, or return to past
states; nor do we agree with its great antagonist section as to the
real direction of its progress, or its actual destination. We are
strongly persuaded of much, that should not be said, without full,
clear, and circumstantial proof, derived from several elementary sources,
some of which we must confess to be laden with uncertainty.
It is, however, by no means difficult to say, so far as concerns us,
what is the existing apparent character of the social stage at which
we have arrived. In this, we may expect the assent of most observers,
in whatever spirit they observe. It is evidently a period which bears
the characters of vast moral, intellectual, and social transition; and
attended with circumstances, some advantageous, and some the con-
trary, such as might be anticipated in a great period of change. Of
these, the most important are too fully developed, and too obvious to
demand any distinct statement here. No one doubts the effects of the
railroad, or the applications of steam to motion and machinery; no
one can doubt the vast accession of strength and intelligence which
has been gained by the popular element of civilization — the conse-
quent development of the democratic principle into increased energy
— and the change of institutions which have followed, and must follow.
However they may be understood, or in whatever spirit witnessed,
these are plain facts or inevitable deductions.
It must, indeed, be more for the preservation of the form which
we have hitherto found it expedient to observe, than for any special
object in our present stage, that we venture a few statements under
the heads of division used in the previous course of our labours. They
must be brief, and therefore general.
POLITICAL PARTIES. — The great political questions which agitated
the public mind in the last period, continue to exercise an increased
influence upon the present. The same parties subsist, actuated by the
same influences, though with objects that have undergone many and
great changes. Of these changes we cannot here speak. They have
been accompanied by moral and social effects, of which some may be
noticed as more prominent, and as more likely to affect the future
courses of events. One of these results has been a gradual communi-
cation of intelligence and political information to the lower and mid-
dle classes in Ireland; and, in consequence, though largely obstructed,
a growing disposition is to be observed among the people, to throw
off the delusions and prejudices which hitherto have had a larger share
than will readily be admitted in chaining this country to the dust.
The peasantry of Ireland continued (we do not here enter into
causes) for ages without opinions or knowledge — fast bound in an
TO SIXTH PERIOD. 251
iron bond of prejudice, and only seeing through the eyes of their
leaders for good and evil. They are now in all the more cultivated
districts universally awakening into the condition of voluntary and
intelligent agents, and either for good or for evil, beginning to think
for themselves. The twilight of opinion is growing over the villages,
and wherever there is to be seen an advance in the common comforts of
civilized life, there will, on close inquiry, be also found an approxima-
tion to just ways of thinking, and to that first great desideratum in
Ireland — a rational sense of their own true interests. This more fa-
vourable condition is, indeed, sadly modified by influences of opposite
kinds. There are those who would contract, and there are those
who would loosen the social bond of order: there is prejudice and
ignorant speculation, the nightmare of the past, and the fever dream of
a visionary future. Against these and other influences far more dark,
the only preservative — under providence — likely to be brought into
timely operation, is the most strenuous and efficient regard to the
improvement of the condition of the peasantry — a sound commercial
action on a sufficient scale — the promotion of abundant and well-paid
employment. To those who are destitute of the means of life, know-
ledge is useless, and more likely to be subservient to evil than to good.
Some enlightened persons, who, (justly enough,) think that prejudices
are to be dissipated by education, have not enough considered the ef-
fects it may have in the promotion of revolutionary notions. The
highest instruction of any populace can amount but to a trifle. There
is a current in the stream of events by which all existing instrumen-
talities are likely to be governed, and they who do not watch its direc-
tions are not fit to guide the least of them.
LITERATURE. — Our literature, though in a commercial sense be-
ginning to take an independent character, is yet in spirit and substance
as it should be — identical with that of the British empire. We do
not feel bound to discuss it, but may just touch on a few points of
present interest. The literature of the day, is, indeed, little likely to
be the literature of the age: it is, strictly, in a state of transition, and
this in a still more observable degree than the general form of the
social state. For this many causes work together. First, the vast
influx of new material, and the impulse and expansion which this has
communicated to the thinking powers — many spacious fields of real
knowledge have been attained, and clouds of speculation vast and illi-
mitable— much as has been discovered, more has been fancied; and as
the narrow bonds of prejudice and convention have been widened or
weakened, a vague tendency to reject old forms, and look for new, is
largely diffused in the mind of the world. So far, regards the depart-
ment of opinion. The character of polite literature is no less affect-
ed. The same causes which have removed the barriers of opinion,
have altered the standards of taste. A vast infusion of new material
— new names, new objects, new notions, have had to be transfused into
language — and the language of the Past has been found inadequate to
give them place and form. Hence the ancient methods and normal
forms of speech, and the rules of style, have been abandoned and
broken through by the writers and forgotten by the critics, unless in
the very few instances of a higher order of mind, in which correctness
252 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
of method is ever native, because it is the result of clear and compre-
hensive thought. So far, the state which we have endeavoured to
describe briefly, is strictly that of transition, and will slowly settle
within the strict limits of truth and good taste, as intellects of a supe-
rior order — always few and far between — occur to give precision and
symmetry to a new language, to define and stabilitate the true, and
dispel the false in fact and opinion. To this we have to add another
operative process — the wide increase of intelligence among the lower
orders of society has generated a literature wholly new and peculiar
to the time. A vast quantity of the very lowest range of intellect
finds occupation in producing food for an immature state of mind, and
for a widely craving appetite for a crude literature. From this most
necessary and most useful scope, an additional corruption arises — the
field which bears the simple diet for the reading crowd brings forth
the abundant growth of weeds and worthless flowers.
Lastly, there is a strong effect produced by a cause so nearly
related to the last mentioned, as to be but imperfectly distinguishable
from it. The effect of political excitement, has been to deaden the
public mind in some respects to all that has no connexion with* popu-
lar feeling. This is an affection, more especially to be observed in
this country, where the passions of the multitude are roused upon
more vital questions, and where the talents of those who give its tone
to popular feeling, are themselves from habit more involved in the
same passions. It is slightly counteracted by the very superior quality
of intellect thus engaged in this country, over the paltry and vulgar
tone of mind similarly engaged in London. We should hesitate to
compare the springing genius of Ireland with the English democratic
press, or with the meagre knowledge and narrow range of its annuals
and popular publications, in which, with little exception, the highest
qualification is to sell the least and lowest mind to the best advantage
at any market. If we are overborne by the excitement of present pas-
sions and passing events, we are at least free from the morbid froth and
vapour of transcendentalism; and the cold, dull, and heartless jour-
neywork of those factories of cockney literature, which, in their little
way, are helping to corrupt the noble literature of England. But
still, such is the fact, our newborn literature is menaced by the whirls
and shallows of the vortex in which we are kept moving. It is not
that we want, in our higher and more cultivated circles, taste and
knowledge to fully appreciate all that mind can do; but it is that our
more alert and adventurous spirits are absorbed into a false medium,
in which the little is magnified and the great diminished.
We have, however, notwithstanding these deductions, high and
ample grounds of hopefulness in Ireland. We have already taken
occasion to notice the yet silent growth of our literature, and traced
the course by which a succession of increasing efforts gave rise at last
to the Dublin University Magazine. This now eminent periodical,
first taking its rise from the rich fountain of the University, has been
protected and fostered by the courageous liberality and commercial
skill of our friend Mr James M'Glashan, until it stands on the highest
level to which such publications can attain. It has been the means of
awakening public attention, and exciting a profitable emulation — so
TO SIXTH PERIOD. 253
that, from having no literature in Ireland, our metropolis is now fast
rising in this respect to a level of production equal to its means ;
means which, if fully brought into action, are adequate to raise it to an
equality with any city in the world. An increasing demand for intel-
lectual nutriment is beginning to be provided for in many quarters:
all, at least characterized by eminent talent, though we witness their
efforts not without some anxiety, lest their opinions and their sense of
the real interests of the Irish people may not turn out to be as sound
as we believe their intentions to be pure, and their motives patriotic.
Yet even so much must we look on as some advance. Considerable
talent and learning has also been very efficiently brought into action
in a very able and well-conducted quarterly, which, though ranged
against our own opinions, and, (as we understand,) especially hostile to
the principles and statements of these volumes, we must say, is gener-
ally free from unfairness, and likely to become creditable and useful
to the country.
We have already stated the claims of Trinity College to the grati-
tude of Ireland. In a dull twilight of obscurity, it was a solitary ray,
slowly, but effectively diffusing knowledge, and the taste for know-
ledge, and sending out men of learning and cultivated talent and sen-
timent into every part of the island. In our own times, it has kept
its place, and from being a source of useful instruction, it has become
a proud ornament to Ireland: known in every country where the light
of science shines, for its eminent professors, and able works in every
branch of solid attainment, its theology, its physics, and its pure
mathematics. Nor does it less deserve to be commended for its abun-
dant fertility in literature, than for its very singular liberality in pro-
moting the ends of knowledge. Cultivating the higher and less prac-
tical branches of science through the press, and through the transac-
tions of the Royal Irish Academy, it provides for the diffusion of the
most popular and practical branches by its school of engineering,
which bids fair to be the most extensively useful institution of the
kind yet known. Nor is it less remarkable for its public spirited con-
duct in the recent outlay of its income in the very striking improve-
ments which have been made in the neighbouring streets of tne
metropolis.
In estimating the literary prospects of our country, it is by no means
superfluous to take into account the fact that many able works, appa-
rently the produce of English talent, are really to be traced to the
source from which, under a more fortunate order of circumstances,
the literature of Dublin should be supplied. Nobody doubts from
whence the best and most successful translation of the greatest conti-
nental poet has come: or that Dr Anster is an Irishman. If, indeed,
we were here to enter on a subject of such detail as the works of
living individuals, we cannot but at once perceive how long and how
important would be the enumeration of works written here, though
issuing from the London press. Nor, happily, is the recent accession
of useful and able publications from our own city, whether we look to
Curry's, Hodges and Smith's, or the university press, less intrinsically
valuable. We cannot enter on the subject, but may exemplify our
remarks by adverting to the numerous able works in elementary
254 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
science, and the valuable editions of the Greek and Roman classics,
which have been within the few last years published chiefly by
the above-named booksellers. Writing, however, cursorily on this
point, it would be an unpardonable omission to pass the recent volume
on the round towers of Ireland, published by Hodges and Smith:
a work not hitherto to be equalled in its own department by the anti-
quarian labour, research, and talent of any country; and never likely
to be surpassed, until the same class of difficulties have again to be
encountered by similar moral and intellectual qualifications.*
Generally speaking, as to the development of intellect in the popu-
lar mind, its advance may, with some near approach to the truth, be
estimated by the degree of advance in the ordinary attainments of
that popular branch of literature included in the term " the press."
For this there is a reason which has an immediate and very general
application. With the few exceptions which do not require explana-
tion, the minds of those writers professionally connected with the
press, are almost exclusively habituated to apply one main standard of
value to the results of thought, — a standard drawn from their immediate
currency and probable effect on the popular mind; with which a habitual
sympathy is thus soon acquired, and a tendency to see and think
through the medium of popular feeling. This curious fact cannot be
mistaken by those who are extensively conversant with the journals of
the present time, and supplies a ready and by no means inaccurate
way of ascertaining the popular progress and tendencies. The same
principle has another far more curious and interesting application,
connected with the progress of culture in the more educated ranks;
and of which we have ourselves had peculiar facilities of observation.
Some years ago, a very considerable movement, with respect to edu-
cation, commenced in the more cultivated circles; the education of
children, always a duty, became a fashion ; books for children were
multiplied, and Jack the Giant-killer, with the fairy-tales, gave way
to whole piles of histories and elementary treatises on every imagina-
ble subject. Every gentlewoman became a school-mistress, or, at the
least, a writer of tracts for infancy. Now one result of this became
soon evident: — persons of the finest taste, the most cultivated reason,
if they happened to be infected with this most useful mania, began
presently to think of every book with reference to the infant under-
standing; and thus by the operation of the same natural process above-
mentioned, a tendency to self-identification might have been ob-
served to gradually carry back the intellect to habitudes of concep-
tion useful for instruction, but not so for any ulterior end. But from
this, another consequence gradually began to appear — the children
which were the objects of this application of human reason, went on
in the natural course of progress, and soon began to manifest those
tastes and tendencies of thought which might be looked for as the
direct result of early instruction on so augmented a basis. A re-
* The Royal Irish Academy has to add this great work to the long list of its
other eminent deservings, well known through Europe, but far too little at home.
The nucleus of Mr Petrie's inquiry consisted of his prize essay in the academy,
and appears as a volume of its transactions.
TO SIXTH PERIOD. 255
markable contrast was the consequence between the tastes, the studies,
and manifestations of intelligence of the rising generation, and that by
which it was thus propelled. The tracts of twenty years ago are fast
giving place to volumes of a more ambitious kind; and the steeps of
science appear likely to be invaded by the children of those whose
laudable ambition it was to think for the nursery alone. A vast ex-
pansion of mind in this country has been the result of this and the
concurrent progress of improved methods of school and college edu-
cation, But for the reasons already observed, it has rather been an
advance of knowledge and of pure intellect, than of cultivated taste.
The literae humaniores have, within the same period, lost ground
under the combined influences of a double revolution; the changes of
the social state which have been concurrent with those of human
knowledge.
The same causes which have contributed to this last mentioned ef-
fect, are likely, in the course of time, to bring round the remedy. Of
this it forms no part of our present task to speak. But there is one
topic to be adverted to, which may even suggest the course by which
the empire of taste is not unlikely to be again, at some future period,
restored. We mean the new and fortunate impulse which has been
received by the fine arts in Ireland. Of this we must say a few words.
ARTS, &c. — The state of society, such as has been described in these
pages, cannot be supposed to have been favourable to the arts. The
clamour of a pervading and incessant political contention, would, of it-
self, be sufficient to account for the absence of the humanizing spirit of
the fine arts. It was not that there was wanting wealth for their
encouragement; but there was a state of society unfavourable to their
suitable appreciation, and occupied also by numerous predispositions
equally so to their development. The demand was wanting, and the
soil was overrun with weeds. There is in every low state of social re-
finement, a debased and vulgar form of utilitarianism — the philosopher
is a utilitarian, because he looks with prospective wisdom to the re-
mote applicability of whatever is true and real ; but we speak of the
well-known temper which can admit no truth but by sight or preju-
dice, and no measure of value but use. Its universal comment is
contained in the words of the great grandmotherly old ballad, " Will
the flame that you're so rich in, make a fire in the kitchen!" It is
not, however, that there was actually no taste to appreciate the
finished results of art; there never perhaps was a time when a Claude,
a Murillo, or a Raphael would not have elicited admiration and won-
der: nor was the cant of criticism ever wanting among the better
classes. The most important point of consideration is distinct from
this: while the peasant is often capable of feeling the result, it is in
the pursuit and apprehension of the means that a productive condition
of society consists. It is not until men can look to the prospective
results of extended applications of principle that the soil is to be con-
sidered as dressed and prepared for the higher expansion of its fer-
tility. The dullest can at once see in part the importance of a steam-
engine; but there was a time, and that not long ago, when the trials
and experiments, of which it is the result, would have seemed visionary
to the multitude. There is now, on the other hand, a high feeling of
256 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION TO SIXTH PERIOD.
popular respect for the remotest excursions of speculation; and the
mind of the world, increased in quantity and improved in quality, is
putting forth tastes and talents, and accommodating itself to the na-
tural method of advance in knowledge and civilization. Where the
physical wants alone were once the real and only springs of productive
industry, and gambling, politics, or debauchery, of the passions — the
operation of moral sentiment, the power of imagination, the charm of
fancy, the deep fascination of their varied combinations in the desires
of cultivated taste, are now loudly asserting their claims, the higher
and nobler claims of our mere humanity.
This has been, doubtless, first a result of the wide improvement of
the intellectual tendencies; it is also pretty obvious that the cultiva-
tion of the useful arts has a natural connection with the ornamental:
and the mind, when it has once received its impulse in whatever di-
rection, will go on to the most refined and extreme results, when not
arrested by peremptory circumstances.
In the city of Dublin, the impulse has indeed been great. The
zeal and talent of a few individuals has, in this important respect, done
the work of years. The Art Union has sprung up among us to call
forth or to reform the taste, and to elicit those resources by the active
application of which alone professional art can be expected to thrive.
An increased market for paintings, having been by whatever means
produced, the wide diffusion of pictures will contribute to draw
forth or to rectify the taste of every class. The artificial market
will give place to a natural demand, and a result from this will
be that the productions now collected from remote quarters will
come to be produced at home. Towards this desirable end, the
Royal Hibernian Academy have been making zealous and efficient
efforts to contribute. The last few years have seen our collections
advancing in general as well as individual excellence. And even
while these lines are penned, this body has meritoriously signalized
itself by a step from which the best and most decided effects may be
looked for, having advertised the admission of the poorer classes for the
last three days, at a price which may be called gratuitous, being in
fact the nearest approach that could be made to this result with safety
to the paintings.
That this is the effective preliminary to further advances in the
same humanizing direction, there can be no reasonable doubt. Any
great impulse communicated to the public mind, may be expected to
propagate motion in every similar direction of tendency. And this
is a principle not merely confined to the range of art, in all its walks ;
but, if regard be had to the influences of that branch from which the
actual impulse is in the present instance derived, it may be observed
that it involves the whole dominion of the mind. Whoever has at-
tentively observed the effects of the study of art upon artists, will
easily conclude upon the effects which must go hand in hand with the
cultivation of painting. They comprise all that belongs to the de-
partment of refined sentiment — the charm of grace and the delicacy
of -perception — the fancy is awakened, and the imagination taught to
spread its wings, — and all the ornamental tendencies of civilized life
are rendered active, to blend with and refine its moralties. It is the
SIR WILLIAM CUSACK SMITH, BART. 257
more popularly effective form in which poetry itself can address and
influence the crowd, oculis subjectajidelibus.
With these few remarks we must be here content; any topics of
the same general nature which remain, must, so far as occasion re-
quires, find their place in the following memoirs.
f. POLITICAL SERIES.
OTtlliam Sugacfe SmitJ),
BORN 1766 — DIED 1836.
SIR WILLIAM CUSACK SMITH was the son of Sir Michael Smith, a
distinguished lawyer and estimable man, who having passed with dis-
tinction through the university of Dublin, of which he was a scholar,
afterwards rose to equal eminence at the bar. He was raised to the
bench in 1794, as one of the Barons of the Exchequer. In 1799, he
was created a baronet; and in 1801, appointed Master of the Rolls,
in which he was the immediate predecessor of Mr Curran.
Sir William was born in 1766; he graduated in Oxford. During
his early years, he became acquainted with Burke, who formed a very
high opinion of his character and abilities. That these latter were of
a very high order, there can be entertained no reasonable doubt, as
many of his literary compositions remain. They uniformly manifest
the perfect command of an easy and perspicuous style, very consider-
able ingenuity, and a shrewdness rather in the nature of metaphysical
refinement, than the species of sagacity usually connected with the
exercise of a sober and solid judgment. Not indeed that in his earlier
writings there is any deficiency in this respect. Neither in these,
and still less in his public conduct, was there any deficiency in that
practical common sense, without which every intellectual power is
worthless; and indeed, whenever his love of refining did not carry
his judgment too far into the wide field of theory, there is a striking
and even exemplary precision in his statements and reasonings.
He was called to the bar in 1788. We find many curious and in-
teresting notices of him in the bar history and correspondence of that
period. He was very highly esteemed among his contemporaries;
but the same subtilizing temper, which we cannot avoid regarding as
a defect of his understanding, and which perhaps was in some measure
the result of a very refined nervous organization, seems to have also
entered into the moral conformation of his mind. He was easily
offended, subject to depression and to fits of suspicion. In consequence
of this constitution of mind, his intimacies, which were congenial to
his high talent and tone of sentiment, were liable to be sometimes
crossed by misunderstandings, which not being founded on any sub-
stantial ground, were not the easiest to remove by ordinary means;
but the fearless honesty and the lofty principle of Mr Smith, often
258 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
terminated such breaches of regard in a manner as honourable as
they were peculiar. We shall relate one instance. Smith, we should
first mention, was remarkably endowed with that high moral sense,
that a passing thought unfavourable to the moral character of an
acquaintance, had the effect of lowering him in his regard to a degree
approaching detestation; and so great was his nicety, that it was not
at that time easy to avoid offending it. With this chivalric infirmity
— the infirmity, it may well be said, of noble minds — it may easily be
conceived how easy it was to fall under his disfavour. Such once
chanced to be the misfortune of one of the most illustrious of his bar
friends, though from what cause has not been stated; but so it was.
Bushe, then his junior at the bar, was surprised by a sudden coldness
and estrangement of manner, which nothing had occurred to account
for. Smith, however, continuing to display toward him a gloomy, cold,
and somewhat petulant manner, two talented and high-spirited young
men ceased to have any communication. During the interval, the
manner of Smith became more and more gloomy and depressed, when
one day they happened on circuit to dine in the same company in
Philipstown. Smith left the room immediately after dinner. After
sitting for a couple of hours longer, Bushe proceeded to seek his
lodging. It was a cold, damp, blowing night, and quite dark. He
had not proceeded many paces from the door, when he felt himself
lightly touched on the shoulder, and accosted by a voice which he
immediately recognised as that of Smith, saying in a tone peculiarly
his own, — " I want to speak to you;" his friend went aside with him,
when Mr Smith addressed him, — " This town smites me with the
recollection of your kindness to me, and of my unkindness to you;
I have to request that you will, without any explanation, suffer me to
call you again my friend, — you will be sorry to hear, what I deserve
very well, that my conduct to you has injured my health." Now, the
same authentic source from which we have this anecdote, also enables
us to say, that the whole of this wrong, which so deeply affected
the trembling sense of justice in Mr Smith's mind, amounted to
nothing more than the very common wrong, of having for a time
entertained some notion injurious to his own high estimate of his
friend; and which, by closer observation, or maturer reflection, he
saw reason to give up. Such was the delicacy of Mr Smith's honour
and conscience, that he felt it to be a crime to wrong a friend even in
thought.
Mr Smith's rise at the bar was proportioned to his high qualifica-
tions. So early as 1795, he became king's counsel. He represented
the county of Donegal in the last Irish parliament. When the ques-
tion of the Union was agitated, he at first took the adverse part with
Bushe, &c., and was among the majority by which this measure was
rejected on its first proposal in parliament in the session of 1799- In
the interval between this and the introduction of the same measure in
the next year, he had been led to a more full review of the question;
and having, according to his natural tendency, taken it up on more
general and speculative grounds, he came to the opposite conclusion.
As there continued for a long time much reproach against those who
voted for the Union, and especially against those who in any way ob-
PEUIOD.] SIR WILLIAM CUSACK SMITH, BART. 259
tained any personal advantage in consequence, or apparently in conse-
quence, of their conduct on that occasion, a few remarks are necessary
in justice to baron Smith. He was one of those few men who could
have pursued the exact course which he adopted at that time, without
affording fair ground for any malignant construction, because the ex-
treme length to which he carried his independence of character — the
zeal for principles — the spirit of defiance with which he asserted his
views of right, both accounted for his opinions, and for the course by
which he acted upon them. Both were the natural result of his intel-
lect and temper; so much so that, among all who were personally
acquainted with him, there was not the smallest doubt as to the rigid
uprightness, and the perfect sincerity of his motives. His conduct
was in this, the same as in the numerous lesser instances with which
the experience of his bar friends was familiar; and every one knew
the spirit with which he rejected all considerations but his own view
of a question, so that, indeed, it was felt that he never could be depend-
ed on as a party man. It was known that at any moment he would pause
and hesitate on the lightest doubt, and conscientiously turn, if his opin-
ion were to undergo a change. He did not feel, or at least acknow-
ledge, those lesser ties of mere opinion, by which ordinary men are
bound with an iron force, and which mainly constitute their stock of
political knowledge, if not of public principle. Smith, however, firmly
convinced himself on the occasion here spoken of; and continued
through life to argue strenuously in support of the principle of the
Union. His appointment as solicitor-general, in 1800, was a step
to which he was eminently entitled, and would have been obtain-
ed, had he adopted the contrary course of politics. But when,
in 1802, he was raised to the bench, and succeeded his father as a
baron of the exchequer, the appointment necessarily gave offence
to the factions, and through them to the multitude. The fact had
little chance to be fairly weighed; nor was it easy to separate the
man from the circumstances under which he obtained this latter pro-
motion. The promotion must be allowed to have been the result of
service on the union question; but there was as certainly no bargain.
The baron was the only man of talent who espoused the ministerial
party, such happening to be the result of his own view of the question.
He was too important an ally not to be valued: the rest, rightly viewed,
was matter of course. Every public man thinks it right to avail him-
self of court or ministerial favour; and to accept of promotion, when
offered without any dishonourable understanding: to refuse, in the
instance under consideration, would have had no meaning but a tacit
acknowledgement that his conscientious vote was wrong. But the
numerous cases which occurred, in which the parties were brought over
by downright bribery, have thrown a kind of imputation not to be satis-
factorily met, because the public judges by general prepossessions, and
does not deal in distinctions. Among those who then differed in opinion
from Smith, the soundest and ablest have since changed their mind.
And though a measure so broad, universal, and delicate in the changes
it was calculated to effect, must needs have brought evil as well as good
with it: we can have no doubt that we are with the soundest opinions
in saying that Smith was right. It must, however, be said that had
260 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXITI
he been less speculative, and more practical in his intellectual habits, he
might, like other able men, have then seen enough to have led his judg-
ment to a different conclusion. Important as must be the prospective
consequences of the union, and important as have been the benefits it has
effected, and the far greater evils it has prevented, it must have been
easy to see two great disadvantages — that it would deprive us of our
aristocracy; and, still more, that there was an existing state of things
which could not fail, and has not failed, to neutralize the natural con-
sequences of the Union. We have, however, little doubt that the
baron's view was right, and supported by right reasoning. Time is
the great restorer of theory, if it be true. The circumstances which
have retarded the growth of Irish prosperity, though more durable
than the impediments of a similar nature in any other country, cannot
last for ever, and even now are rapidly disappearing; and the common
processes of national advance are beginning, though as in a stormy
spring, to expand to the light.
On obtaining his seat on the bench, baron Smith, still young,
and in the most vigorous perfection of his faculties, began to turn
his mind to the more profound study of law. For this he justly felt
that his mind was eminently qualified. His extraordinary acuteness,
the promptness and rapidity of his discernment, and his mastery of
speculative methods and principles, appear indeed to have fully war-
ranted the hope of legal eminence. To the study of law his mind was
eminently adapted: law, while from the strictly logical concatenation
of its inferences and principles, it offers fit matter and a suitable
exercise for the discursive faculties; at the same time, from the very
distinctness and defiuiteness of the entire chain, presents that limitary
barrier which the speculative temper so very generally requires. And
thus it will now and then occur that a mind which might otherwise
be led to waste its energies upon an unproductive field of vague and
flighty metaphysics, may take a high place as a lawyer, or as the
advocate of a policy. Baron Smith signalized himself in both ; but
most especially as an able and expert writer on legal questions, on
some of which his essays are of considerable interest.
As a judge, he cannot be praised above his deserts. He carried to
the bench, not only the skill and talent of a lawyer; but the liberal and
humane sense and wisdom of a Christian philosopher.
At a late period of his life, the baron took justifiable alarm at the
violence of the democratic party in Ireland. The increase of Rib-
bonism rose for a time to an alarming pitch, and infected the pea-
santry to an extent unknown within the previous memory of the age.
It was then quite obvious that the people interpreted both the
concessions of reform, and the representations of their leaders, into
meanings of their own ; and, for a time, no life was safe under the
influence of false impressions and visionary expectations. Murder
was uncontrolled; and the law, sufficient in itself, was frustrated by
the pusillanimity or party-spirit of provincial juries. It was under
these circumstances that the baron was induced, by his strong consti-
tutional feelings, to adopt a course which soon made him the object of
much party animosity. On his circuits, he delivered a series of
charges, of which it was the purpose to counteract the fatal influence
PERIOD.] SIR WILLIAM CUSACK SMITH, BART. 261
of political terror, then perniciously operating on the minds and ver-
dicts of juries. In the execution of this imperatively necessary task,
which lay strictly within the duty of the judge, baron Smith could
not have evaded the unfortunate condition of seeming to identify him-
self with a party. He has indeed, by a strange oversight, been ac-
cused of partiality for having dealt severely with the crimes and errors
of one party, and neglected to brand the wrongs committed on the
opposite side. Now, admitting for a moment that such wrongs had
existence to the amount alleged by popular writers, we have to ob-
serve that such a stricture on the baron can only be warranted by
the assumption that his charges were intended simply as political
addresses to the counties: the very assumption in which the accusa-
tion consists. But the baron, as a judge, was simply concerned with
the Crimes which came within the scope of the criminal law, and with
the political influences which then, and since, have been notoriously
operative in direct opposition to the law. With the vicious constitu-
tion of things which may have led to crime by intermediate influences,
he was not so immediately concerned. Under ordinary circumstances,
it must be admitted that a strict abstinence from all party considera-
tion is the imperative duty of the bench. But this rule, like every
earthly rule, has its limit — party considerations may variously inter-
pose within the judge's compass of duty; and this cannot admit of
doubt, when they directly intrude upon the essential action and ma-
chinery of justice. Considering that such occasions are in the nature of
exceptions, that when all the rules and forms of the constitution are
in a state of disruption, every man's office becomes for the time merged
in his duty as a member of society, we think the baron was rigidly
right. When the law was disarmed, deserted by its servants, and
defied by its subjects, the wonted solemnity of the bench, affecting
indifference to the storm, and calmly issuing its impositions, would
be like poor mad Lear in the court of his rebel child, or preaching
justice and pity to the winds. Attributing the state of the country
to the state and conduct of the party ostensibly at the head of the
popular movements, the baron acted with a just regard to his judicial
duty in the endeavour to neutralize its effect on the minds of juries.
In the execution of a duty which, happily, does not often devolve to a
judge, perhaps the baron did not rigidly draw the line which ought
to divide the official from the social duty. If this were to be
conceded, the urgency of the case must be allowed for; but in such
emergencies it forms no part of the duty imposed on any office, to be
rigidly right and no more. When the duty of the judge and of the
politician, by a rare juncture of circumstances, happened to coincide,
it was not too peremptorily to be demanded that the political depart-
ment of the mind should not assert its ordinary authority, and that the
judge, compelled to enter the field, should forget the citizen and the man.
But we must be just; there can be as little doubt that when such,
unhappily, becomes the judge's part, he must take the consequences.
If we once admit the existence of the leading of a popular party, — if
we admit the rights of agitation, which, with due limits we do not
deny, — it becomes apparent that, in the strife of party, the judge must
be met like any other man when he enters the field of strife.
262 POLITICAL SERIES.
[SIXTH
Thus, then, according to the theory involved in these statements,
we consider that circumstances may warrant the judicial assumption
of a political function, and the same circumstances equally justify the
consequent direction of party assault against such a step. Of course, in
either case, the question as to the particular grounds, the occasion and
the manner, remain untouched. They form a question which does not
belong to this volume to discuss; nor would such a discussion be now
desirable, when much of the party bitterness which disordered the
time has subsided among the lowest dregs of the infidel or revolu-
tionary writers of the provincial press, who still think it not indecent
to attack Christianity through the sides of protestantism; and, in their
eagerness to strike, forget to conceal the lowness of the quarter from
which alone the language they use can emanate.
The baron was, of course, subject to a parliamentary attack, wjjich,
under the circumstances, could not fail to be made. But his high
reputation as a judge, the strong sense which existed of the vicious
state of things which appeared to require, or at least warrant, the
course he took, were in his favour. The government was then hostile,
but it was an administration without weight, and his friends in the
House were earnest and effective, so that the storm rolled harmlessly
by; addresses from the grand juries were poured in to the baron, to
congratulate and compliment him on the occasion, and he replied to
all in short and pithy answers, which attracted great attention by
their elegance of style, and by the variety of their language. They
were perhaps not less remarkable for the point and freedom with which
he reasserted the principle of his charges, and vindicated himself.
We abstain from details which would necessarily require the notice
of numerous living persons,* whom it is not the part of this book to
censure or compliment. We must avoid the angry spirit of modern
parties, and preserve, to the utmost possible extent, a freedom from
personal crimination, reserving the right to assert our views of prin-
ciple, whenever the principle is of sufficient importance in our eyes to
excuse the necessary deviation.
Baron Smith was a man of strong nervous irritability of tempera-
ment, which was increased by habits which it induced. Among these,
he is said to have had one to which nervous subjects are mostly inclined,
irregularity in the observance of hours; he was much addicted to
watch, and pursue his studies to a late hour of the night, and was, in
consequence, habitually languid by day, until roused by the sense of
duty, or by some powerful sentiment. His nature was, however, as
such natures are, of the most excitable order, and all his strong powers
were ever ready to start into life and action at the demand of each
of the high and refined sentiments of which his heart was full. It
has often been affirmed that he was capricious and uncertain; this
may, in its fullest extent, be true : but one thing has never been justly
allowed for, which might perhaps account for much of the numerous
instances current in the talk of story-tellers. What we mean will
* The details of the parliamentary discussion, upon this occasion, may be
found in the second part of " Ireland and its Rulers," from which the facts of tho
above memoir are mainlv drawn.
PERIOD.] sin WILLIAM CUSACK SMITH, BAKT. 263
most briefly be communicated by a trivial story, which we know to be
perfectly true, as it is highly characteristic. One day, while he was
attorney-general, it happened that he sat at dinner between two bar-
risters in a circuit town. These two gentlemen, from time to time,
kept up a whispering conversation behind his back, and from some
words which met his ear in the general hubbub of the table, it seemed
to him that some plan of a very low species of intrigue was the sub-
ject. One of these gentlemen was a man of the highest talent and
worth, and married to a woman of great attraction and goodness.
Smith's sense of the degradation of such a man, and wrong to such a
woman, took fire; and, unable to suppress the sentiment, he assumed a
haughty and reserved manner towards the supposed delinquent. Happily
some occasion led to a communication, and he mentioned the cause of
his reserve, adding that he had not respect enough for the other per-
son in question, to be very seriously impressed by his supposed mis-
conduct; yet that a similar course would excite his abhorrence if
followed by one of whom he had always entertained the most exalted
opinion, and whom he knew to be married to a most estimable woman.
Such was the fine and sensitive moral nerve, which responded to
the lightest touch of a principle. We only notice it as offering the
most satisfactory illustration of the course of conduct which we have
had occasion to reflect upon here, and not for the purpose of insisting
upon what by no means follows as matter of course, and what we
have not had the means of ascertaining, that baron Smith was himself
a pattern of the utmost moral purity in private life. Of his private
life we are ignorant; but in viewing his public life it is not unimportant
to keep in view his moral tendencies. We think it necessary to make
the distinction, because we have a strong distrust of such tendencies
in those cases in which the passions of private life become strongly
engaged. Whatever may be man's nature, it becomes altered under
the strong influences of pride, hatred, fear, and love, though it can
resist the impulses of ambition, and can spurn the sordid interests. Of
the baron's conduct, as a public man, we can express our perfect ap-
probation, and consider it high, above all question, public-spirited,
judicious, independent, and constitutional, even in the only instance
of seeming deviation.
Of the personal foibles and infirmities of a mind which it cannot
be denied was subject to some eccentricities, it is enough to say that
the baron was both respected and esteemed by the high-minded and
light-hearted profession, to which he must be admitted to have been
an ornament. We have some reason to suspect that his eccentricities
became aggravated towards the close of his life, by the natural effects
of old age. His last literary production, which consisted of a com-
mentary on lord Brougham's introduction to his work on Paley, may
be considered as clearly indicating a decay of those intellectual powers
by which his earlier compositions are so highly distinguished. He
died in 1836, not very long after this production.
POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
264
BORN 1759 — DIED 1844.
AMONG the illustrious names which ornament the personal history of
Ireland, few indeed, in all important respects, are more honourable
than Wellesley : if great and efficient services are to afford the test of
comparison — none. The original paternal name of the family was
Colley.* Walter Colley, or Cowley, was Solicitor-general of Ireland,
in 1537. From this gentleman the family is traced, for seven descents,
to Richard, who, on succeeding to the estates of the Wellesleys of
Dungan castle, an Anglo-Saxon family of very ancient standing, settled
in Ireland from 1172, adopted the surname and arms of Wellesley.
Garret Wellesley, first earl of Mornington, was justly celebrated
for his high musical genius, having composed several glees which
were successful in obtaining the prizes and medals given by the glee
club. His church music still continues to be played, and to be very
much admired. This nobleman married a daughter of the first lord
Dungannon.
The eldest son of this marriage was the late marquis Wellesley.
He was first sent to Harrow, from which, with several others, he was
expelled in consequence of a rebellion in the school, in which he took
part. He was then placed at Eton. Here his reputation stands un-
questionably fixed by the severest test of comparison, having been by
the master preferred to Porson. Such distinctions are not always
clear of the uncertainties of traditionary recollection, or of the possi-
ble imputations of partial favour. In this instance, this test of first-
rate merit is as authentic as it is honourable. Lord Brougham re-
lates the incident to which we would refer — " When Dr Goodall, his
contemporary, and afterwards headmaster, was examined in 1818 be-
fore the Education Committee in the House of Commons, respecting
the alleged passing over of Porson, in giving promotion to King's
College, he at once declared that the celebrated Grecian was not,
by any means, at the head of the Etonians of his day; and, on being
asked by me (as chairman) to name his superior, he at once said
lord Wellesley."
From Eton he entered Christchurch College, Oxford, where he
eminently sustained the reputation he had acquired at Eton. A re-
cent publication has put the world in possession of his beautiful, strik-
ing, and classic compositions in Latin verse, to which we shall here-
after more particularly revert. Our materials are not such as to war-
rant our dwelling further on the incidents of this period of his life.
He came to the age of manhood at a time when youths distinguished
for talent and having the vantage ground of station in society, were
invited into a brilliant field of distinction. It was the day of Grattan,
and Curran, and Bushe, and Plunkett, in the Irish, and of Pitt, Fox,
and Burke, in the British House of Commons. It was also a season
of intense political excitement, when great changes were passing
* Burke's Peerage.
FEKIOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 265
through their courses, and greater still beginning to open on the eye
of the age. The French Revolution was throwing its broad and
blood-red glare, and its vast impulse, like the centre of a mighty vor-
tex that stirs the waters into a thousand lesser whirlpools and eddies,
throughout Europe. Whatever may have been, or may yet be. the
event, it was an auspicious era for the school of political acquirement,
and for the youthful energy and intellect of a man like Wellesley.
His eminently broad and comprehensive spirit received its discipline
at the sources of the great order of events of which he was to be
mogna pars, in which his name was to bear a lofty place, and to be
graved on perennial monuments.
In the Irish House of Lords, he took his seat as lord Mornington,
in 1784. Of the early stages of his political life, our space does not
permit any detail. Of the talents which would have raised him to a
place of the first eminence as an orator, we can entertain no doubt;
but his parliamentary career was early interrupted by still higher and
more responsible and arduous duties. We shall therefore hurry on to
the statement of those historical events in which he is to take his real
position as the ruler of great events in the history of nations.
His first appearance in the British parliament, was when he made
a very eloquent speech in defence of Hastings. It was in 1805, that
he was appointed to succeed lord Cornwallis, as governor-general of
India ; a station of such high responsibility — so complicated with
difficulties and embarrassments, and involving a state of things so full
of emergency to British interests, and severe and delicate responsibi-
lity to the governor — that the appointment may well be regarded as
displaying the high character which lord Mornington must have
then acquired, while his acceptance of it in some degree indicates the
courage and firmness of his character. To understand this, the
reader has only to call to mind the history of India for the few previ-
ous years.
We have already stated, as fully as the purposes of this history re-
quire, the origin of the British settlements in Hindostan, and the
course of policy by which it had been extended and confirmed. In
that policy, there was a singular combination of the most flagrant in-
justice, with the most unbending and stern necessity, such as to render
it a question of the most embarrassing nature to assign the precise
equitable result of praise, acquittal, or condemnation, in pronouncing
on the policy employed, or on the merits of those who were its authors.
There can be no doubt that evil consequences were prevented, and a cer-
tain amount of good secured, by evil means ; that crimes were punished
by crimes, and wrongs redressed by wrongs; but it must also be allow-
ed, that when, by whatever means, the British empire had been firmly
established in India, on the ordinary basis — settled possession — the
rights and the lives of millions were not to be abandoned on grounds
of principle, which, however specious in formal enunciation, had sub-
stantially little application. Between the Indian princes and the
colonies, there existed a commerce of injury, in which, on the part of
the rajahs, the most extreme purposes of the most rancorous hostility
were pursued under the most plausible professions of friendship.
Always prompt to appeal to the most strict principles of right — craft,
266 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
treachery, and falsehood, were their undeviating rules of conduct,
whether towards their subjects, their nearest kindred, or their strictest
alliances ; there is not to be discerned the slightest trace of any prin-
ciple, or any right affection, to render them the object of respect or
trust. If referred to any standard of national justice, the application
would have been partial, for they acknowledged none. If we refer to
the principles of mere humanity, it may well be doubted on what
ground they could have been pleaded for Hyder or his execrable son.
When the rights and lives of British subjects had been embarked in a
contest, which the artifice and dishonesty alone of these tyrants could
have divested of the character of open war, it had become a peremp-
tory obligation to protect them at every sacrifice, against enmities
which rejected all restraint, and which were not to be subdued. Even
looking back to the more extreme and difficult aspect of this question,
as it respects the conduct and policy of Mr Hastings, the same
reasoning must, to a considerable extent, be applicable; and however
the strict rule of justice may condemn the line of conduct which estab-
lished the empire of religion, humanity, and civilization, in so large
a portion of the globe, this result, once attained, must be allowed to be
one which the best ends of human existence require to be maintained at
all risks, and at every cost. The ultimate end of that evil policy was
beneficial, whether considered in relation to England or to India. And
while, in its proximate results, much was to be condemned, and still more
deplored; still it cannot but be viewed as one of the greatest advances
which have been made in the social destinies of the human race. The
visible progress of humanity has been largely connected with conquests ;
and these, it ought to be observed, have been so often repeated in the
history of every great nation, that there is a peculiar absurdity in the
popular impression, founded on an illusory notion of the perpetuity of
certain native immemorial rights. In the history of mankind, no such
perpetuity is known. The native Indian had long before been subju-
gated to the constraining yoke of Mahometan conquest ; and was then
labouring under the prostration of an iron and relentless tyranny, arid
by superstitions the most degrading, and the least liable to be removed
by the advances of civilization. The British conquests were but a
repetition of the common process, enforced by the irresistible control
of circumstances.
But however the philosopher or the philanthropist may impose on
his own understanding by general views, and the exclusion of essen-
tial facts, one thing must be finally admitted, that with the adminis-
tration of Mr Hastings, the question ends. By his energy, sagacity,
and unscrupulous zeal, the British empire in India was placed on the
ordinary grounds of right. But much security was yet wanting: the
settlements were surrounded by enemies, most treacherous and powerful,
whose fatal and deadly purposes were always maturing under the cover
of the friendliest professions ; who respected neither truth nor right, and
regarded treaties but as the secure approaches of concealed hostility.
Such an enemy was Tippoo, Sultan of Mysore. His empire had been
considerably reduced in extent by the result of a severe struggle, in
which lord Cornwallis, after a severe and sanguinary campaign, had
besieged him in Seringapatam, the capital of his dominions, and com-
PERIOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 267
pelled him to make large cessions of provinces which bordered closely
on the domains of the British empire, or which were possessions of
the allies of the Company. Though the territory of the Carnatic was
thus rendered more secure, and the power of Tippoo considerably re-
duced, he still remained master of the most wealthy and populous
territory of the east, and of the most ample means and resources of
war ; he was also fortified by caution, derived from the experience of
two disastrous wars; and his unappeasable hostility was fixed and ani-
mated by the fanaticism of his Mahometan creed : he firmly believed
that he was destined to drive the European infidels from the east, and
with this conviction he bent all his vast resources to repair and re-or-
ganize his means of offence. But the British had taught him to look
with respectful caution on the dangers to be braved : he had already
been twice betrayed to the verge of utter ruin, by an over-san-
guine reliance on his numerous cavalry, on his powerful artillery,
and on the assurance of the European officers whom he had
taken into his pay. He now resolved to await the most favourable
opportunity for a blow, and to be prepared: his preparations were
to be masked under various pretexts, and his animosity concealed by
the fairest professions. He was not, indeed, trusted implicitly, for
there was a uniformity of every vice in his character, which left but
little scope for dissimulation ; yet the pretexts he put forth were well
adapted for the purpose of deceit; they were corroborated by their
seeming prudence, as his real interests were understood to be best con-
sulted by the course he pretended to adopt, and his well-known abili-
ties were cast into the wrong scale, when it was assumed that he was
too wise to risk another war. Six years were thus allowed to pass,
during which the conduct of the Sultan was becoming more and more
calculated to awaken suspicion: nor had his plans been so guarded as to
prevent the secret of his designs from transpiring, so that at last there
was no doubt remaining, that he only awaited the favourable moment.
This too had been, to all appearance, approaching. Many circum-
stances had, in this interval, been turning in his favour. He had pre-
served peace with the surrounding rajahs, and successfully employed
all his cunning to gain friends among them. The war between
England and France had given him every promise of a most effectual
ally, and powerfully strengthened the European part of his forces.
The most effective of the British allies in India, the Nizam, had suf-
fered a material diminution of strength and territory. Tippoo, mean-
while, had availed himself of the terrible resources of the most com-
plete and effectual despotism ever known on earth, to repair his
treasury, and complete the arms and defences of war. And now that
many circumstances appeared to conspire in his favour, he was encour-
aged by a strong persuasion that the champion of Destiny must now
look, in a conjuncture so favourable, for the event decreed.
It was the period when Bonaparte had led his well-known expedi-
tion into Egypt, having among his plans the prospective view of at-
tacking England in her Indian dominions; and there is no doubt that
such a contingency entered with no small consideration into the
speculations of a prince so long-headed, and so congenial in his enmi-
ties as Tippoo. He at this time received from the artful Corsican the
268 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
following epistle: — "Bonaparte to the most magnificent Tippoo Sul-
tan, our greatest friend. You have learnt my arrival on the shores
of the Red Sea, with a numerous and invincible army, wishing to de-
liver you from the yoke of the English. I take this opportunity to
testify my desire for some news relating to your political situation, by
the way of Muscath and Morea. I wish you would send to Suez or
to Cairo, an intelligent and confidential person, with whom I might
confer. The Most High increase vour power, and destroy your ene-
mies." Tippoo, on his part, with the strongest professions of honesty
and good faith to the British, was no less earnest to cultivate so pro-
mising an alliance with their powerful enemy. In the previous \ear,
he had sent his envoys to the French government in the Mauritius, of
whose mission it was the object to levy men for the service of their mas-
ter. The French governor there had no superfluous troops ; but the
Sultan's alliance was too important to be disregarded: his objects were
identical with those of Bonaparte. A small and disorderly force was
raised and embarked in a French frigate for Mangalore, where they
arrived in April. A further instance of Tippoo's resolution and subtle
policy is also to be noticed, as illustrative of the character of the man,
and of the difficulties to be encountered by the British governor-
general. The Nizam, or ruler of the Deccan, was understood to be
in strict alliance with the English. Tippoo, availing himself of the
pacific understanding as yet subsisting, entered into a plot with the
French in his own service, to augment the European force of the Nizam,
by the addition of large bodies of French soldiery secretly disaffected,
and commanded by officers under his own pay; and by raising this body
above the Nizam's real force, to undermine him in his own dominion.
In prosecution of this design, a force of 20,000 Europeans, chiefly
French, was thus incorporated with the army of the Nizam. Another
principal step of Tippoo, was his embassy to the powerful Shah of
Cabul, the ruler of the Affghan tribes, recently so well-known to our
Indian armies, and, like himself, a strict Mahometan, and full of animo-
sity against the British. To the Shah he proposed a choice of two
plans of co-operation, having a common end in the expulsion of the
infidels, and a strong personal inducement in the subsequent spolia-
tion, and, probably, division of the Deccan, and other territories, in
which doubtless Tippoo proposed to himself to secure the lion's share.
His negotiations with the French and other hostile powers had
been, as we have said, transpiring ; and terror had begun to awaken at
Madras, and creep along the Carnatic, in 1798, when lord Wellesley
was chosen as one qualified to meet and cope with a season of menac-
ing emergency. It was indeed a position not to be courted, nor ac-
cepted unless by one whose courage was above the power of all that
could dishearten and terrify. It was well known how tardy and in-
sufficient were the resources of the British government in India. How
trying the emergencies which were suffered to arise, and how severe
and invidious was the spirit of inquiry which would be sure to follow
and scrutinize whatever might be done under any circumstances. The
responsibility which was to be placed between these dangers, was to be
additionally burthened by the reluctance, the fear and incapacity of sub-
ordinates. But lord Weilesley was armed with vigour, sagacity, deci-
PEItlOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEV.
sion, promptitude, and firmness. His mind seems to have been framed
for some great and imperial emergency — to control the dull, captious,
and reluctant subordinate, and defeat the art and treachery of enemies.
Having on his way out, providentially met the Indian despatches at
the Cape, he had the means of making himself entirely master of the
state of affairs; and then, even at this early period of his office, he
framed the plan of proceeding, which he afterwards effectively pursued ;
a fact ascertained by his despatches from that place.
This remarkable instance of a rare decision and promptitude of
judgment, was as conspicuously qualified by the statesmanlike pru-
dence, which was required by a complication of difficulties. He deter-
mined to set out by maintaining the principles of justice and fair-
ness so far as they were substantially applicable, and not to be
cajoled by pretences and specious seemings, where they were not.
The actual state of things he thoroughly comprehended; and on his ar-
rival, entered on his course with the uncompromising decision which
is always the result of clear apprehension. He had to meet the pre-
judices and the timidity of persons in office; to make those efforts by
negotiation and remonstrance, which must necessarily precede demon-
strations of resistance to concealed hostility; and to counteract those
preliminary expedients which were the preparations for the meditated
aggression. These preliminaries were subjected to added difficulty
and embarrassment by a fact which he soon discovered, that the
financial resources at his disposal were insufficient for an immediate
resort to arms. The campaign which would follow in the course
which he meant to adopt, should, he thought, be pushed to its con-
clusion within the season; and the grounds for this are obvious
enough, if it be only considered how powerful an amount of hostility
was actually in the course of concentration, from the northern extreme
of Cabul, to the powerful and inveterate Sultan of Mysore. Already
the Shah was on his march towards Delhi. Most of the Indian
princes, either from fear, ambition, or the influence of secret corrup-
tion, were secretly on the watch to declare for Tippoo, whom they,
at the same time, feared and detested. The presidency of Madras was
unequal to meet the first shock of the Sultan, who could pour down his
thousands on the Carnatic coasts, and nearly decide the war before
resistance could well make the least effectual movement.
Under these circumstances, lord Wellesley entered on a course of
preparatory measures such as this juncture of circumstances required.
To repair the dissolved and disorganized defences and army of Ma-
dras, and form " so permanent a system of preparation and defence,
as, while it tended to restore to the government of Fort St. George,
with all possible dispatch, the power of repelling any act of aggres-
sion on the part of Tippoo Sultaun, might ultimately enable him
(lord Wellesley) to demand both a just indemnification for the expense
which the Sultaun's violation of treaty had occasioned to the govern-
ment of the East India Company, and a reasonable security against
the consequences of his recent alliance with the enemy."* With this
view, as the same despatch informs us, in June, 1798, he gave orders
* Despatches.
270 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
for the army to assemble on the coast of Coromandel. These orders
appear to have met every obstacle from the fears of the principal
authorities at Madras. But to these the governor opposed the power
of his official authority; and put an end to a weak and unwise, but con-
scientious resistance, by the gentle but peremptory declaration of his
will. " If," he wrote in the orders of council, " we thought it proper
to enter with you into any discussion of the policy of our late orders,
we might refer you to the records of your own government, which
furnish more than one example of the fatal consequences of neglecting
to keep pace with the forwardness of the enemy's equipments, and of
resting the defence of the Carnatic, in such a crisis as the present, on
any other security than a state of early and active preparation for war.
But being resolved to exclude all such discussions from the correspon-
dence of the two governments, we shall only repeat our confidence in
your zealous and speedy execution of those parts of the public service
which fall within the direct line of your peculiar duty."
In the mean time, the governor-general applied himself to the re-
moval of the most intrinsically serious obstacle to success, in the insi-
dious and dexterous contrivance, by which Tippoo had actually contrived
to obtain a formidable military position in the dominions of the Nizam
of the Deccan. An army of 13,000 Europeans, under the pretence of
alliance, or of ostensible neutrality, was not to be allowed to remain
without some step to obviate it. This step was taken with admirable
dexterity. A treaty was concluded with the Nizam, for a large addition
to the English force in his pay. Three thousand British were marched
to the next British station, close to Hydrabad, the Nizam's capital;
and on the conclusion of the treaty, they were marched thither, and
joined by a large squadron of the native cavalry. Happily, a mutiny
had just broken out among the French; the opportunity was promptly
seized; they were surrounded, disarmed, and marched off to Calcutta,
and shipped thence to France. The effect of this masterly demon-
stration was immediate, and widely influential: it was felt and under-
stood through India, and conveyed to all her princes a sensation of
terror and respect. It likewise operated to restore the courage and
confidence of the irresolute and prejudiced councils and officers of the
presidencies. The Nizam was thus strengthened against the other-
wise certain destruction which menaced him, and the first and strongest
approach was strengthened against the enemy.
It does not belong to this memoir to follow out the particulars of
the campaign which so soon ensued, and we shall only state the main
results. The governor-general, when he had disposed and arranged his
resources to the utmost, and taken all those well-devised and compre-
hensive precautions which his means afforded, or his considerate
understanding could suggest, clearly saw that the time to act with
decision was come. The impatience of Tippoo was at its height, and
he was likely to take the initiative, which might lead to disastrous
consequences. The British armaments were only to be sustained at
an expense, for which the resources at the governor-general's disposal
were not more than barely adequate, and all circumstances showed
that the moment for overt hostility was come. Lord Wellesley, there-
fore, took the indispensable first step, before he could have recourse to
PERIOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 271
arms. He wrote to the tyrant of Mysore, and told him that he was
aware of his various acts of a hostile character. He then apprized him.
of the success of the English arms in the Nile — of the alliance with the
Nizam, and the termination of the French influence and force in the
Deccan — the presence of an English fleet on the Malabar coast-— and
such other facts of similar weight, which tended to show that there
could be no prospect of French aid either from France or Egypt.
Trusting to the effect of these communications, he proposed that the
Sultan should receive major Doveton, whom he would send instructed
duly for an amicable arrangement. To facilitate the proposed inter-
course, the governor then proceeded to Madras, and on his arrival
received Tippoo's answer — one, it is now needless to say, plainly
stamped with the marks of duplicity. On Tippoo's part, the point of
moment was the evasion of the proposed mission. This, it must be ob-
served, was a test from which alone no doubt could remain of his
intentions. Lord Wellesley instantly wrote a second letter, repeating
this proposal, and urging a reply within one day. After three weeks
had elapsed, the reply came, that the Sultan was about to go hunting,
and would receive major Doveton, if he came " slightly attended." The
drift of this evasion was too plain to leave any doubt ; but in the inter-
val, lord Wellesley, with a thorough apprehension of the mind and the
proceedings of the Sultan, and determined not to let him gain the ad-
vantage of delay — his obvious design — had sent on the advanced
guard of the British, with directions to proceed into the territory of
Mysore, and at the same time took the steps necessary to put in mo-
tion, or to place on their guard, the other divisions of the British and
his allies.
It was immediately discovered, as lord Wellesley had foreseen, that
Tippoo's forces were already assembled, and in preparation for the
reception of an enemy. It was plain that, if not invaded, he had been
on the start to invade ; and it may be inferred that his march was only
checked by the approach of the Malabar army under general Stewart.
From a hill they were seen forming their encampment between See-
daseer and Seringapatam. Having the advantage of concealed positions,
in a very difficult region of hills and forests, they were enabled to
gain the advantage of coming unexpectedly on a division of the Bri-
tish, and attacking them simultaneously both in front and rear, before
more than the three corps they thus engaged could come up — the
remaining corps being intercepted by another body of the Sultan's
troops. In this formidable emergency, the troops of the presidency
remained till next day; and, completely surrounded, they only defend-
ed themselves by the most desperate valour. Their intrinsic supe-
riority sustained them against overwhelming numbers, until general
Stewart came to their relief with the flank companies of the 75th and
77th regiments. The engagement was fiercely renewed ; and after
half an hour, Tippoo's men gave way and fled through the jungle,
leaving the British conquerors, but completely exhausted from, the
fatigue of this severe struggle.
Immediately after this affair, a junction was formed between this
division and the main army, notwithstanding the efforts of Tippoo, who
endeavoured to prevent it by laying waste the villages and country on
272 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
their line of march. He did not, however, extend this destructive
operation sufficiently for the purpose ; and, by a slight deviation, the
British general (Harris) reached the end of his march without inter-
ruption. Tippoo was too shrewd not to be aware, that his chance in
the field was thus reduced to nothing, and that his trust lay in the
strength of his capital, which he knew they would attack, and thought
might defy their force. He therefore directed his flight thither,
with the remains of his beaten army.
In about a week from the engagement mentioned above, the British
were encamped before Seringapatam. This was on the 16th of April.
On the 30th their batteries were opened: in a few days there was
effected a considerable breach. The assault was made in the heat of
the day, at the time when least resistance was to be expected. The
attack was completely successful; and the town was soon in the pos-
session of the British. Tippoo was found after a long search, lying
under heaps of dead, and wounded in five places.
In the meantime, the menaced invasion from the northern Affghan-
istan power was prevented ; and a most imminent danger warded from
British India, by the well-directed force which the governor-general
had previously sent into the principality of Oude, with the double
view to intercept the Shah, who, according to the suggestion of Tip-
poo, had marched to Delhi, and of checking the movements of Scindia,
'whose hostility was well known.
The fall of Tippoo gave occasion for effecting more completely the
system of arrangement, by which alone the security of the eastern
empire, and the peace of India, could be placed on a footing of toler-
able security. The Indian princes, while they exercised the most
grinding despotism over their subjects, were utterly devoid of all sense
of honour, faith, and truth ; and this, not so much from any peculiar
depravity of nature, as from the character of their religion, education,
and habits. They did not really recognize the feelings nor the princi-
ples by which European transactions are formally governed, and which
are the recognized basis of all public proceedings and compacts: they
had but learned the language. In their dealings with Europeans, they
had recourse to this language, but acted on principles of far more lati-
tude ; by means of which, while they never failed to appeal to the ele-
mentary maxims of right and justice, they had no scruple in setting
them aside, when the opportunity offered. The conduct of the strictest
public bodies, and the most upright governments, and of all men, but a
few individuals of the highest order of mind, is little to be trusted when
great advantages can be gained by deviation from the strictness of
justice. This, at least, we freely concede. But these splendid barbaric
despots, under whom the East lay prostrate, knew no control of prin-
ciple, save the deadly and uncivilizing superstitions which maintained
their own rule by the degradation of mankind. There was, indeed, no
room for the recognition of any other. Under their sway, there existed
no rights or no interests worth question; the people were but as the
fruit of the soil, an ignoble and unrespected possession, mere tillers, who
were barely allowed a poor subsistence from the ground they cultivated
for their sovereign. \Vith regard to each other, there was one, and but
one, system of reciprocity, clearly understood and uniformly observed
PERIOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 273;
— that of taking every advantage which falsehood, craft, and unscru-
pulous murders in every form could gain — whether it was to usurp a
neighbour's throne, or that of a father or brother, by whatever horrible
expedients (such as fill their history,) and make the earlier records of
the " gorgeous East," a romance of blood — a frightful collection of
" tales of terror."
Towards this wretched confederacy of uncivilized tyrants, we must
repeat, it was essential to maintain the rules of European policy, only
so far as they were applicable. There was no ground in the more gen-
eral considerations of humanity, why they should be respected or even
endured. The fundamental law alone, which secures existing posses-
sion, was their equitable protection, and could not be violated without
adequate ground in the same elementary code. But this, their own
falsehood and treachery amply afforded. There was no genuine ground
for the questions which a humane but ignorant and inconsiderate Op-
position suggested, on this occasion. By the results of war, and by
the still more justifiable results of courses of lawless policy, the domi-
nions of the Eastern potentates had been placed at the discretion of
the British empire in India (for thus it should be stated). Under
these circumstances, there can be no fair doubt that the British em-
pire, now the main part of India, was in the first place, bound to act
on the great primary law of self-protection. It was not to be
heard that this great and civilized empire, by which the interests and
safety of fifteen millions as well as the progress of civilization, freedom,
and true religion in Asia depended, was to be risked and betrayed
for the advantage of some half dozen miserable tyrants of the worst
description, that they might be allowed to conspire against each other,
to crush the wretched Hindoos, and confederate for the destructiou of
the British. But on this question, as on many others, fallacious no-
tions had been engendered by the previous agitation of another ques-
tion, which, though essentially distinct in all its bearings, applied to
the same subject. The rules of one, and still more the feelings, were
applied to the other. It has been the noble distinction of England to
lead the way in all the great measures of humanity, and its errors are
entitled to respect. But the charges against Warren Hastings and
his predecessors involved precisely that violation — for beneficial ends
it is true — of rights which, however their force may be settled, had in
this later period either changed their character, or entirely ceased to
exist. The power exercised by the British government, was become
a just, and even a conceded right. The territories appropriated were
fairly won in self-defensive war: the princes interfered with were
some of them only existing by the protection of the British ; and the
rest either convicted enemies, or unable to maintain themselves with-
out danger to the empire. And these are all recognised cases of
international law in which interposition becomes authorized. These
observations are only here offered to those to whom the consideration
has not previously occurred. We do not believe that any doubts now
remain on this class of questions; and those which were entertained,
or pretended by party opposition, were even then silenced by the good
sense and just feeling of all parties.
The governor-general took advantage, as we liave said, of the fall
VOL. VI. S
274 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
of Tippoo, to carry into effect his plan for the radical correction of
the false and vicious system, under which there was neither security
for the British empire from the incessant recurrence of the same ex-
pensive and calamitous wars, nor for the Rajahs, from the consequences
of their own turbulence, craft, and weakness. The Mahratta war,
which followed the conquest of Mysore, protracted and delayed
the more full completion of this new arrangement, by which the
Indian princes were thenceforward to place the military depart-
ment of their establishments under the command and authority of
the British government, allotting for the purpose a sufficient portion
of their revenues; and retaining only the civil government of their
respective provinces.
Of the Mahratta war, it would be impossible to give an account
suitable to its importance and interest, within the space which can
here be afforded. Five chiefs of provinces had managed, by the usual
resources of the East — the weakness of their sovereign, and the facility
of rebellion — to raise principalities for themselves in five western pro-
vinces of the Deccan, and protected themselves by a mutual league.
The vast dominion cemented by this compact amounted to nearly nine
hundred miles square. They were among the most warlike and tur-
bulent princes of the East, and the most alert to seize on each occa-
sion of hostility to the British. A population of' forty millions,
enabled them to maintain armies amounting to four hundred thousand
and upwards. As may well be conjectured by the reader, the harmony
of such a union of turbulence and intrigue, was by no means undis-
turbed: among these potentates there went on an incessant strife for
the supremacy. Their principal object was severally to obtain pos-
session of the authority of the Peishwa, or prince of Poonah, who
was the least in point of strength, but who had the advantage of deriv-
ing his title by descent from the first founder of their union, whose
paramount sovereignty they all pretended to recognise. As the
usurpation, thus intrigued for, would, by the concentration of so large
an empire, be dangerous to the British dominion, it was the policy of
the government to prevent such a result, by maintaining the balance
among them ; and for this purpose, the course pursued was to add
strength to the Peishwa, and to maintain with him a strict alliance.
With such views, on the fall of Tippoo, a considerable addition was
made to his territory; and he was recognised in every treaty as the
sovereign of the Mahratta confederacy. These wise precautions were,
however, entirely defeated by the successful efforts of Scindia (one
of the five), who kept the Peishwa in such complete subjection that
he not only could not fulfil his engagements to the British, but was
even compelled to refuse their favours.
Such was the position of affairs among the Mahrattas, when dis-
turbances arose among them, which it would be foreign from our
immediate purpose to relate. A war sprang up between Holkar and
Scindia, the former of whom marched against the Peishwa, who ap-
plied for protection to the governor-general. As the result of his fall
must, in all probability, have been soon followed by the ascendency of
Holkar, it was evidently an occasion of the most pressing emergency ;
and therefore immediate steps were taken, which led to the commence-
PERIOD.] RICHARD. MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 275
ment of that war, which is rendered so well known in military history
by the subsequent renown of one of the able and successful commanders,
under whom it was brought to a favourable conclusion, after a glorious
and hard-fought campaign. As this most brilliant succession of dis-
tinguished victories and of most able arrangements, could not be even
summarily described in less than twenty added pages, we must be con-
tent to say that it was in the month of February, 1804, that peace was
proclaimed with the Mahratta chiefs, on terms accommodated to the
general system of pacification arranged by lord Wellesley.
The inhabitants of Calcutta, necessarily impressed with a sense of
the importance of the success of this comprehensive and masterly
measure, voted a subscription for a marble statue of the governor-
general, whose promptness, wisdom, and firmness, had thus finally
crowned the series of distinguished achievements which had raised
our Indian empire, by settling it on a broad foundation of power and
beneficence. At home, he received the honourable distinction of the
order of the Bath, and the thanks of parliament.
These splendid results were scarcely less deserving of praise than
the mild and steady progress of improvement in the civil and con-
stitutional state of the entire country thus secured from the dangers of
incessant invasion. The administration of justice, of the internal po-
lice, the morals of the people, the interests of knowledge, and still
more of education, obtained lord Wellesley's attention and unremitting
care. Ever singularly regardless of selfish considerations, his whole
heart and entire resources were freely devoted to the great purpose
of consolidating the empire, and adding to the happiness and welfare
of the people. Into details we cannot enter. While his sagacity
was confirmed by results of the most comprehensive and permanent
kind, his disinterestedness was also attested by acts of munificence,
which are subject to no mistake. He proved his superiority to the
low temptation of wealth, by relinquishing £100,000, his share of the
spoils of Tippoo, to the army ; and came home not advanced in any-
thing but honour, and the satisfaction of having done good on an im-
perial scale.
Though his services did not secure unqualified approbation, they
were rated justly by wise and honest men. On coming home, an
attempt to impeach him had but the effect of drawing forth universal
testimony to his high deserts. In the commencement of 1806 he
returned, when the death of Mr Pitt had the effect of reducing the
Tory party to a state of disorganization ; and a protracted series of
intrigues and abortive negotiations to construct an administration out
of the leaders and the debris of both, continued for several months.
The members of Mr Pitt's government applied, with the king's con-
sent, to the marquis Wellesley, who declined to make an attempt of
which he saw all the difficulties. In the following session, Sir Philip
Francis moved for his impeachment. Sir Philip was desirous to
make a grand display on Indian administration, as he was still excited
by a hope that he might himself be sent out as governor-general.
But there was too strong a feeling in favour of the marquis; and the
more respectable members of either party, with the exception, we
believe, of Mr Fox, discountenanced a party prosecution so gratui-
276 POLITICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
tously vexatious. The marquis held himself aloof in the scramble for
place, to which his large intellect and refined tastes were repugnant,
until 1809- In this year, when the country had been led to increased
efforts in the great struggle in which it was then embarked, it was
proposed by Mr Canning to bring the marquis into the cabinet as
secretary at war, instead of lord Castlereagh, out of which arose a
misunderstanding and a duel between those two statesmen.
In the same year, the marquis was by much entreaty induced to go
as envoy extraordinary to Spain, where the greatest detriment to the
service had occurred from the utter incapacity of Mr Frere. Towards
the close of the year he returned, and was appointed foreign secre-
tary in place of Mr Canning, when lord Liverpool succeeded lord
Castlereagh in the war and colonial office. We find him at this time,
with great and striking oratorical excellence vindicating his brother
and the conduct of the war, against the powerful faction among the
whigs, which then were violent in the opposition; and though Can-
ning and Croker were among the distinguished defenders of the war,
there does not appear to have been any speech produced by the occa-
sion deserving of comparison with that of lord Wellesley. Among the
whigs, the war had been unpopular from the well-known principles of
their party ; but it is specially to be observed that their opposition was at
this time exasperated by impatience of a contest which, while it was at-
tended with a heavy expenditure of public money, seemed to promise no
decided result. In a word, they did not understand the actual position
of affairs in the peninsula, and seemed warranted by the precedents of
a quarter of a century, in drawing unfavourable inferences from the
tedious movements of a protracted campaign. They did not know
the real difficulties which it required time and steady patience as
well as first-rate ability to surmount, nor had they any adequate
notion of the abilities which were engaged in the task. They did
not know, what they might have known — the inadequacy of the
means applied, at a time when the utmost liberality should have been
exerted to further the crisis of this great struggle. The great com-
mander to whom Europe is indebted for delivery from the progress of
a disorganization of which it is hard to say the end, had to strive
against all imaginable odds — a parsimonious and niggardly supply of
the necessaries of war — the stubborn and wrong-headed interferences,
peculation, and remissness of the rabble of official persons, civil or
military, with whom he was compelled to act; so that his friends were
actually more formidable than the numerous, brave, and well-com-
manded army against whom he was to direct his little force. All this
was not rightly understood, until the success of our troops made the
knowledge late. Such indeed is always in some degree the ignorance
which exists in the opposition party, and sometimes in both, when the
scene of action or the country which is the object of legislative measures
is remote, or even beyond the ordinary compass of immediate personal
observation.
In 1812, when the restrictions on the Regency were on the point
of expiring, and there arose an interval of distraction, uncertainty,
and apprehension, among the holders and the expectants of office, the
marquis tendered his resignation. The regent requested of him^to
PERIOD.] RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 277
retain his place provisionally, until he should himself be placed at
liberty. Into the causes of the marquis's wish to resign, and the in-
trigues of those who were his personal enemies, it is not necessary to
enter. It will be enough to say, that it appears that the result of
these circumstances was — contrary to what might have been expected
and desired — to establish Mr Percival in place, and confirm the mar-
quis in his determination to resign. On tendering his resignation
the second time, he was requested by the prince to state his opinion
as to the changes advisable in the plans of administration. The
marquis recommended a satisfactory settlement of the claims of the
Romanists in Ireland, and a more efficient prosecution of the war.
His resignation was then accepted.
In 1822, he succeeded earl Talbot in Ireland, and produced bene-
ficial effects on the agitated temper of the country, by the adoption of
a line of conduct in which a liberal and impartial spirit was carried
to the utmost extent consistent with fairness or sound policy. The
marquis undoubtedly discerned the great changes, in point of number,
wealth, and civilization, which seemed to call for and admit a relax-
ation of the political restraints which the necessity of earlier times
had compelled; but he did not see the counteracting impulses which
still survived in the mind of a nation retentive of traditionary wrong,
prone to excitement, susceptible of perverted prejudices and vindic-
tive passions, and exposed to brawling misrepresentation. He did
not observe those courses of public feeling which showed a temper of
unbounded and insatiable requisition, and a spirit which could be
satisfied with nothing less than a vindictive superiority. These indi-
cations were not then indeed fully understood by the leaders of the
popular party in this country. Nor even yet would they be as fully
apparent as they have become, were it not for the profound revela-
tions of journalists and parliamentary orators. But we are treading
on dangerous ground. The marquis was recalled in 1 828, on the ac-
cession of the Tories. In 1830, he accepted the appointment of lord
steward in the household. In 1833, he came back to the viceroyalty
of Ireland, which he resigned in the following year.
On the subsequent political career of marquis Wellesley, it is not
within the plan of this work to enter at length. He was twice lord
lieutenant of Ireland : the history of these two administrations could
only be intelligibly discussed at very considerable length. That the
reader may be satisfied that such is the case, we have only to observe,
that our ordinary plan of simply adhering to such outlines of leading
events as may be deemed matter for history, (in the strict sense,)
would, in the case of very recent events, satisfy no one who could be
supposed to look into works of this nature. The detailed history of
parties in Dublin would be the proper material of our memoir, thus
composed. Nor are we quite sure that our own personal politics
could wholly be prevented from colouring the narrative; at least we
know of no narrative which escapes the force of such an objection.
In Ireland, the marquis maintained his character for high impartiality,
and vigorous efficiency; he was by far the ablest of those whom we
have seen in the same station. We cannot, however, pay him a com-
278 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
pliment, which we think due to none, that of a full and adequate com-
prehension of the state or of the interests of Ireland.
While he was here the second time, he married his second wife, an
American lady, and widow of Mr Paterson.
He might, had he so desired, have continued to hold his high sta-
tion ; but was actuated by a principle of consistency, He returned,
and took a leading and effectual part in turning out the Tories. The
base and unprincipled party which he served, were assuredly unworthy,
as they showed themselves unconscious of his services. Lord Brougham
relates, " On their accession to power, I have heard him say, he re-
ceived the first intimation that he was not to return to Ireland from
one of the doorkeepers of the House of Lords, whom he overheard,
as he passed, telling another of my friends lord Mulgrave's appoint-
ment."
After his return, we hear little of him as a public man. The same
high and comprehensive character of mind which fitted him for his
Indian administration, and perhaps unfitted him for the very peculiar
civil atmosphere of Ireland, also predisposed him unfavourably for the
narrow scope and party tactics of parliamentary warfare in England.
He remained aloof, preserving a social intercourse with the best and
most enlightened persons of every side, and indulging in those studies
for which his talents were of the highest order.
The lofty firmness of the marquis's moral temper, and his high
and statesmanlike disregard of popular opinion, and of low calumny,
is fully exemplified, by a well authenticated statement made by lord
Brougham, which shows him to have continued eight years silent
under the reproaches and bitter invectives of those whom he was un-
remittingly toiling to serve, and that in opposition to his nearest and
dearest personal friends. On this we must be silent, as it would in-
volve us in the necessity of a protracted discussion, or, what were
worse, the brief and hurried outline of an argument imperfectly
stated; but may refer to lord Brougham's admirable sketch.*
Of lord Wellesley, as an orator and a writer, we are far from possess-
ing information sufficient to speak otherwise than very generally. We
may, however, refer the reader to two very accessible sources of in-
formation, of both of which we shall here avail ourselves a little — Lord
Brougham's Historical Sketches, and an article in the Quarterly Re-
view, for March, 1840.
On the first point, the following extract will interest the reader.
»' The excellence of lord Wellesley's speeches has been mentioned; the
taste which he had formed from study of the great Greek exemplar,
kept him above all tinsel and vulgar ornaments, and made him
zealously hold fast by the purity of our language; but it had not
taught him the virtue of conciseness: and he who knew the <ttt%t rou
ffrtpavou by heart, and always admitted its unmeasurable superiority
to the second Philippic, and the Pro Milone, yet formed his own style
altogether upon the Roman model. That style, indeed, was consider-
ably diffuse ; and the same want of compression, the same redundancy
* Historical Sketches, vol. iii.
RICHARD, MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 279
of words, accompanied, however, by substantial though not always
needful sense, was observable, though much less observable, in his
poetical pieces, which generally possessed very high excellence. It is
singular to mark the extraordinary contrast which his thoughts and
his expressions presented in this respect. There was nothing super-
fluous or roundabout in his reasoning, nothing dilatory or feeble in
the conceptions which produced his plans. He saw his object at once,
and, with intuitive sagacity, he saw it in its true colours and real
dimensions; he at one glance espied the path, and the shortest path
that led to it; he in an instant took that path, and reached his end.
The only prolixity that he ever fell into was in explaining or defend-
ing the proceedings thus concisely and rapidly taken. To this some
addition was not unnaturally made by the dignity which the habits of
vice-regal state made natural to him, and the complimentary style
which, if a very little tinctured with oriental taste, was very much
more the result of a kindly and generous nature."
From this period the life of marquis Wellesley is not to be traced in
the sphere of political party ; but was, as we understand, mainly devoted
to the retired and tranquil pursuits which he loved, and for which he
was eminently qualified. Among his friends, men of congenial tastes
and accomplishments, and his books, he enjoyed those studies and
that intercourse of mind, which, next to the contemplation of past
good deeds, can give such ease and such dignity as old age may derive
from temporal circumstances. Si vero habet aliquod tamquam pabu-
lum studii, atque doctrines, nihil est otiosa senectute jucundius. The
source of enjoyment thus asserted by the wisest of the Romans, eminently
belonged to the marquis. And, like Cato, into whose mouth the
sentiment has been put by Cicero, the marquis seems, from lord
Brougham's account, to have, in the last years of his life, amused him-
self with the study of Greek in the orations of Demosthenes, which,
though seemingly congenial to the character of his own genius, he
had in some degree neglected in his earlier studies.
The pursuits of the last retirement of the marquis are, like the
achievements of his public life, fortunately not without their monu-
ment. A small volume of Latin poems, dedicated to lord Brougham,
and published in the author's eightieth year, sufficiently prove that
he would have been as distinguished in the cultivation of letters as he
was in the government of states. Of the verses we cannot here
speak so fully as they deserve: but we shall endeavour to make amends
by an extract which shall close this account. It was in the year 1839
his lordship took the villa of Fernside, near Windsor. As this natu-
rally led to excursions among the haunts of his early years, when a
scholar in Eton, his notice was on some such occasion attracted by a
weeping willow which' hung over the bank of the Thames. Recollect-
ing its known origin, that it had been brought in the last century
from the banks of the Euphrates, near Babylon — the " waters of Baby-
lon"— he composed the following exquisite piece.
" Passis moesta comis, formosa doloris imago
Quae flenti similis, pendet in amne Salix,
Euphratis nata in ripa Bahylone sub alta
Dicitur Jlebreas sustinuisse lyras ;
280 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
Cum, terra ignota, Proles Solymea refugit
Divinum Patriae jussa movere melos ;
Suspensisque lyris, & luctu muta, sedebat,
In lacrymis memorans Te, reverende Sion !
Te dilecta Sion ! frustra sacrata Jehovse
Te prsesenti ^Edes irradiata Deo !
Nunc pede barbarico, et manibus temerata profanis,
Nunc orbata Tuis, et taciturna Domus !
At tu, pulchra Salix, Thamesini littoris hospes,
Sis sacra, et nobis pignora sacra feras ;
Qua cecidit Indica, mones, captiva sub ira,
Victricem stravit Q,use Babylona manus ;
Inde, doces, sacra et ritus servare Parentum,
Juraque, et antiqua vi stabilire Fidem.
Me quoties curas suadent lenire seniles
Umbra Tua, et viridi ripa beata toro
Sit mihi, primitiasque meas, tenuesque triumphos,
Sit revocare tuoa dulcis Etona ! dies.
Auspice te, summse mirari culmina famse,
Et purum antiques lucis adire jubar
Edidici puer, et, jam primo in limine vitso,
Ingenuas verse laudis amare vias.
O juncta Aonidum lauro, prsecepta Salutis
^Eternre ! et Musis consociata Fides !
Felix Doctrina ! et divina insita luce !
Q,use tuleras animo lumina fausta meo:
Incorrupta, precor maneas, atque integra, heu te
Aura regat populi, heu novitatis amor.
Stet quoque prisca Domus ; (neque enim manus impia tangat);
Floreat in mediis intemerata minis ;
Det patribus patres, Populoque det inclyta cives
Eloquiumque Foro, Judiciisque decus,
Conciliisque animos, magnseque det ordine Genti
Immortalem alta cum pietate Fidem.
Floreat, intacta per postera secula fama,
Cura diu Patrise, cura paterna Dei.
It would be difficult to give this exquisite poem higher praise than
it deserves ; nor is it needful to point out to the classical or poetical
reader all the beautiful propriety of its allusions, or (what is far more
remarkable) the deep vein of uncorrupted fancy and feeling, preserved
from the brightest and purest fountain of the youthful affections, which
glows through every line of a composition at the advanced age of
eighty. Nor can it be required to dwell upon the evidences it bears
of the Christian studies and habits of feeling, which indicate that this
noble and high heart was cheered in its latter days by still happier
consolations, and led by purer lights and more immortal hopes than
the muse of Greece or the literature of Rome.
The marquis died not long after the publication of the little book
from which the foregoing poem is taken, and was buried in West-
minster Abbey.
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 281
BORN 1767— DIED 1843.
THE end of the last century, though far behind the present time in
public intelligence and in the advancement of real knowledge, was
yet as far beyond it in that loftier cultivation of the heart and reason
among the higher classes, which constituted the finished gentleman,
the accomplished man of letters, or the powerful orator. Not, indeed,
that this pre-eminence was generally diffused among the wealthier
classes, but while there existed among the lowest ranks a perfect
barbarism, and among the rural gentry a rude and uncultivated con-
dition as to habits of life and general attainment, there was among
the higher aristocracy, the university, the bar, and the parliamentary
leading men, a sedulous cultivation of elegant literature, of the re-
finements and graces of language, of the popular methods of address,
as well as of the exercise of the whole art of forensic eloquence, such
as has not since been remotely approached ; nor, considering the changes
which have since taken place in knowledge and manners, is likely to be
again attained. In England, our illustrious countryman, Burke, had,
with all his unrivalled power, raised his testimony against Indian oppres-
sion or domestic improvidence, and warned his country and mankind
against the rising storms of French revolution — " Shook the arsenal
and fulmin'd over Greece" — followed by the brilliant and celebrated
men of either party, whose names are still so familiar. In Ireland,
Grattan and his powerful contemporaries were only less famous, be-
cause they had a narrower stage, and less elevated parts to play.
Emanating from this splendid competition of men of the highest gifts,
there were in different circles of society bright expansions of in-
tellectual light, of greater or less compass and spirit according to the
local combination and social influence of some one or more central
minds; but there was no spot within the country or the kingdom
more conspicuous for its high and elegant cultivation than the county
of Kilkenny. The county of Flood and of Langrishe, had long
been eminent for the distinguished refinement of its social habits, and
for the cultivation of every elegant and graceful art; under the in-
fluence of a few accomplished families, it had become the Attica of
Ireland, and this pre-eminence was long maintained by a succession of
distinguished men. To this effect the residence of several wealthy
proprietors contributed; and family connections added to this illus-
trious circle the choicest mind of other places : by the intermarriage
of his sister with Mr Bushe, of Kilfane, as well as by his early ac-
quaintance with Mr Flood, Mr Grattan became a frequent and in-
timate associate in a circle thus distinguished by the union of those
qualities which give a charm and grace to society, and are so fa-
vourable to the development of the mind. Such were the auspices,
and such the time and place from which we are to date the illustrious
career of the late Charles Kendal Bushe, a name too honourable to
derive illustration from any title, or from any distinction in the gift of
kings.
282 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
The ancestry of the Bushe family may be traced far into the
heraldry of England, and is variously connected with that of the most
respectable families in their part of Ireland. Of the Irish family,
the founder came over as secretary in the time of William III., under
the vice-regency of lord Carteret. They acquired, by grant or pur-
chase, large possessions in the county of Kilkenny, and resided in the
family mansion of Kilfane; in the present, or rather the now passing
generation, this seat was transferred by sale to the late Sir John Power,
baronet, who married Harriet, daughter to Gervase Parker Bushe, of
Kilfane. A few steps of this lineage will be acceptable to many
readers of the present memoir.
In the end of the 17th century, the then Mr Bushe, of Kilfane,
married Eleanor, sister to Sir Christopher Wandesford, who was
created viscount Wandesford in 1707. By this lady he had (among
other children) two sons, Amyas and Arthur; of these, the elder
inherited Kilfane, and was the immediate ancestor of the Kilfane
branch. To Arthur, his father gave Kilmurry, being a small estate
separated from the family demesne.
The Reverend Thomas Bushe, eldest son to Arthur Bushe, of
Kilmurry, married Katharine Doyle, sister to the late general Sir
John Doyle, long governor of Guernsey, and well known as the gal-
lant colonel of the brave 87th. Sir John was also very universally
known for his rare command of wit and humour, for the eloquence of
his speeches and addresses in the Irish parliament, and afterwards in
the India House; and was very much distinguished by the favour
of George IV., who was so eminent a judge of character and social
talent. Of his peculiar style of humour we can only afford an in-
stance. Once when he had the honour of dining at Carlton house, a
gentleman was entertaining the prince and his company with a lively
account of some adventures which he had met on his travels;
among other wonders, he gave a lively description of some monstrous
bug, on the marvellous properties and exploits of which he dwelt with all
the eloquence of Munchausen. " Pray, Sir John," said the prince, ad-
dressing the baronet, "have you any such bugs in Ireland?" Sir John
replied, " They are quite common, I can assure your highness, we call
them humbugs in Ireland." The sister of this worthy baronet, though
less widely known, was not less remarkable for her superior under-
standing, her refined and polished wit and taste, and her knowledge
of that literature which was then cultivated by the highest minds.
She lived to a very old age, and had the gratification of seeing her
gifted son Lord Chief Justice of Ireland. She was still, at that ex-
treme period of her life, very remarkable for her graceful manner,
the elegance of her easy play of allusion, and the youthful brilliancy
of her fine eyes. She was equally observable for the fine tone of high
and generous feeling, which often reminded us of some dignified matron
of the Cornelian race: there was about her person, manner, and style
of conversation, much to verify and illustrate the frequent remark, how
often the most illustrious men have been indebted to the virtues and
talents of their mothers.
Not long, we believe, after his marriage with this lady, Mr Bushe
accepted of the chaplaincy of Mitchelstown; and having fallen into
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDVL BUSHE. 283
considerable pecuniary embarrassments, was compelled to alienate
Kilmurry for the liquidation of debts which had been chiefly the
result of an unfortunate passion for building. Previous to this occur-
rence, two children, Elizabeth, and afterwards Charles Kendal, the
subject of our narrative, were born, — the latter in 1767. He received
the name of Kendal in honour of a Mr Kendal, who had bequeathed
to his father the neighbouring demesne of Mount Juliet, which his
father had a little before let to lord Carrick. After removing to
Mitchelstown, Mr Bushe had five other children.
Of the early education of Charles Kendal Bushe, we have no very
precise details to offer, and shall not load our pages with those which
can amount to no more than generalities. In his fourth year, he
was sent to Mr Shackleton's academy at Ballitore, then eminent for
its superior system of education, and afterwards illustrious for the men
it produced. We have already had to notice it in these pages. From
this, he was removed to another very distinguished school, that of
Mr Craig in Dublin, the same in which we have already had to trace
the early days of Tone. Here, too, many persons conspicuous in after
life, many of whom are yet upon the stage of the world, became
united together in that interesting tie of memory, which, from so
slight a beginning, has so deep and permanent a hold. From these
traditionary recollections, we must pass on to the time of his entrance
in Trinity College, Dublin, in 1782, when he was in his fifteenth
year. Here he was eminently distinguished, and notwithstanding his
extreme youth, was successful in winning premiums both in classics
and science. His classical attainments were placed beyond doubt, and
nearly beyond the reach of comparison, by the unusual circumstance
of a scholarship in 1785, with eight first best marks. A distinction
strongly verified by that perfect mastery which he retained to the
very last, of the whole of that range of Greek and Roman literature
which was then included in that arduous trial. His contemporaries
were among the most remarkable persons of his generation. Plunket,
Miller, Graves, Magee, were among the scholars at the time. Tone,
also, then as much distinguished by almost unrivalled wit, and admi-
rable address, had obtained his scholarship in the previous year.
To maintain a leading position in a circle, which has not been
equalled since, and is not likely to be soon equalled again, the great
reputation which Bushe had then acquired, and well maintained, is of
itself a test of high distinguishing qualities. The Historical So-
ciety brought these brilliant and active spirits together into a compe-
tition more free and congenial than the pursuit of academic honours;
and here Bushe rose as nearly to his comparative place, relative to
these eminent men, as was consistent with the imperfect nature of the
test, and the inexperience of those who were to pronounce the awards
of fame. We think it of some importance to mark this distinction,
because we are convinced, first, that the reputation which is acquired by
such academic displays of popular talent in early life, long continues
to fix a man's place in the comparative estimation of his contempo-
raries: to point out the reasons would lead us too far, but such is the
fact. And second, that there are some limits to the applicability of
such a criterion as is thus held out, which are not likely to be quite
284 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
understood at the period when this species of fame is won. Young-
men, at least in the academic stage of their lives, are often very ex-
cellent judges of style, of the rhetorical and logical expertness of a
writer or speaker; but not equally so of those more severe, and solid
qualities, which must be the chief foundation of excellence, in the ma-
turer and more important efforts of actual life. They are sure to be
won by ready and unfailing ingenuity, which can make the worse ap-
pear the better cause, and is never at a loss for the retort and reply.
Errors of judgment, perversions of principle, they do not always detect,
and when they do, an over-allowance is sure to be made for the ficti-
tious understanding under which a fallacy is to be maintained ; they
readily assume that all that ready resource in the support of error,
must be still more triumphant in the contest for truth; but it cannot
often occur (to the many,) that in point of reality the higher powers
of the understanding are rarely tested in such efforts of advocacy; and
if they were, their use is not very strongly apparent on the surface.
The great and commanding faculty of judgment has little scope in such
boy-contests; and even, if the contrary be admitted, this master
faculty of the reason, being rather employed to guide the other facul-
ties (as from within) than to show its own peculiar working, and being
mostly only to be recognized by justly measuring its effects — requires
a nearly equal endowment of the same gift in the listener, before he
can be qualified to appreciate this latent source of power. This fact
will be found to have a very peculiar bearing on every just estimate
of that mind, of which it is the main purpose of this memoir to give a
faithful picture ; and with the same view, it is not less important to
observe that the profound and comprehensive grasp of truth and of
the principles of truth which give value to the nobler exertions of
the mind, will, on such occasions, place the inexperienced speaker at
a disadvantage, for there cannot be a stronger obstacle to promptness
in sophistry than the clear apprehension, and keen sense of truth and
right, with which a high degree of such qualities must inspire their
possessor. These distinctions are easily applied; it is not within our
province to compare the early academic successes of Bushe, with those
of any one who may have stood higher in the opinion of boys. We shall
presently come to the notice of his more popular gifts; but it is on
the force of the principle thus stated, that we must ground our own
peculiar view of a mind which we will not admit to be second to any
one of the eminent persons with whom he may have been brought into
comparison. In the play of rhetoric, his match was to be found; in
sophistical ingenuity, and the arts of dexterous advocacy, his superior
might, perhaps, be named ; but in the secret ruling intellectual power
that guides to sound views, and imparts truth to the reason, and even
refinement and grace to wit, he had no equal among his countrymen,
and few anywhere.
If, however, Bushe had, in the estimation of his college cotem-
poraries, a place in any degree lower in comparison than we must
claim for him, it cannot strictly be said that he was underrated; if he
was not first> he was nearest to it. He possessed by nature the flow-
ing torrent of burning words which all can feel: he was also master
of a rare and matchless style of wit, which art never gave; it was that
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSI1E. 285
command of the most rapid, varied, and lively combinations of fancy?
and of playful allusion, which he had inherited with his mother's blood,
and which seemed to sport involuntarily and without consciousness
upon his lips. He never was to be caught in premeditated witticisms,
or guilty of resurrectionary Joe Millar's in his lightest discourse; he
was witty because he could not help it; and as his whole conversation
flowed from the kindliest feelings of human nature, his wit was as
much directed to give pleasure, as that of most wits to give pain.
Quite free from the vanity of competition, and admired by all, he
never interfered with the pretensions, real or imaginary, of others, or
entered into frivolous disputes for the sake of victory.
After leaving college, some years were spent in studies of which the
law, which he had selected for his profession, formed but a small part.
This is an inference warranted by the known extent and variety of
his early and intimate acquaintance with every branch of polite litera-
ture, and the skill and information in the reasonings of metaphy-
sical writers, of which there remain among his papers proofs, on which
we shall hereafter offer more full information. A thorough acquaint-
ance with the best writers in defence of revealed religion, and a very
able reply to Hume's attack upon it, were the fruits of this interval.
He was called to the bar in 1 790. We cannot distinctly say to
what cause it is to be ascribed that his success was not so rapid as
might be expected from the high reputation he had already acquired,
and the popular nature of some talents he so strikingly possessed.
The case is (seemingly at least), not of infrequent occurrence. Men
of first-rate legal attainments, as in the instance of Lord Eldon, have
been long unnoticed. But deep legal erudition, and the powers essen-
tial to the lawyer, are not of a nature to force themselves into notice;
nor are those gentlemen who are the dispensers of bar employment,
the best qualified to discern the powers and attainments they are in
duty bound to look for. It was then, at all events, thus. It is true
that in the instance of Bushe these reasons are insufficient ; his facul-
ties were too bright to escape the dullest vision. But it was a moment
of vast ebullition of all the lower and baser elements of the social state:
there was a collision between democratic rage and folly, and admini-
strative misrule. Disaffection on one side; and on the other, low
intrigue, and base subornation; while unprincipled or misprincipled
acquiescence in popular folly, filled the space between. Bushe could
easily have sold himself to the Castle, or bartered his lofty sense of prin-
ciple for the praise of democratic clubs, and the foul applause of rabbles.
He could early have had the office of a crown prosecutor of those
whom he condemned, but loved and pitied; or he could have been the
popular advocate of crimes which menaced the dissolution of civil so-
ciety. There was in his nature a dignity, and an instinct of truth which
repelled both. He stood apart, not so much intentionally as from the
instinct of a nature at once generous and delicately alive to principle.
In the same year, he was called on to assist in the last meeting of
the Historical Society, and made on that occasion a speech long re-
membered by those who heard it. This society was in itself an insti-
tution subject to the college, composed of its students, and within its
walls, though not comprised in its corporate constitution. It will best
28G • POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
be described as a scbool of oratory, poetry, and history, of which the
first nearly absorbed the whole practice. It always met, during the
college terms, on every Wednesday night, and when the secretary had
read a minute of the transactions of the last previous night, some ques-
tion selected on a former meeting was formally proposed for debate.
These questions were mostly of an historical character, and involved
some important moral or political principle. We are not aware that
the general order and practice of the society at this period, was
materially different from the later society revived in the same place
not many years after, in which we can recollect to have heard the
early eloquence of many now known to fame —
Et nos
Consilium dedimus Syllse, privatus ut altum
Dormiret.
In the earlier period, it must be allowed, there was a day of genius
not afterwards equalled. But there was in both periods, an error in
its constitution, inconsistent with permanence. It admitted of the
clash of party opposition, and thus necessarily called into existence
among rash and heady youths, the same tendencies which carry grown
up men into such folly, crime, and violence. In the later society, it is
well known to what an extent a spirit of intrigue, turbulence, and in-
subordination were beginning to appear, though under greater con-
straints and with less provocation from without. But in the day
of Bushe, their debates were far more free ; and they were touched
with no slight spark of that fire which burned so fiercely in the
breast of the Emmets, of Tone, and others, who were then among
their distinguished orators, and were soon after too well known to
their country. It was in 1 790, that the heads of the University, actu-
ated (we believe) by reasons not materially different from those which
they again acted upon in 1815, thought it necessary to place the His-
torical Society under more stringent rules. The effect was in each
instance the same: the society met and voted itself out of existence.*
To grace, and give force to this act of self- dissolution, Bushe was in-
vited. It was the custom, at the beginning and end of their sessions,
to open and close the meeting by a speech from the chair; the ora-
tor on such occasions was always chosen for his ascertained powers,
and the public was admitted. It was therefore a distinguished test of
character to be thus called to speak to the world the last of these
solemn addresses — the last words of the old Historical Society. Many
passages of the speech which he then delivered, have been printed in
different works, and are therefore generally known to those who exer-
cise a taste for oratory. We here give no extract, because it is our
design to offer other specimens of far'maturer power.
On attaining the age of majority, Mr Bushe's first step was one
which, while it indicates the same high and generous nature which
will appear in every part of his life, had the unhappy effect of plunging
him into difficulties which operated to retard his advancement, and
heavily cloud both the peace and the prospects of his earlier years.
* This institution is once more revived, but under a far more well-conceived
and durable form, in which all its proper ends are secured, and its irregular ten-
dencies excluded.
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 287
Unable to resist the pain of witnessing the embarrassments of his
father, he made himself liable for the full amount of his debts. Of
the actual amount of these, neither father nor son had any distinct
knowledge; and Mr Bushe, having assented to the proposal, imme-
diately found himself involved to the amount of thirty thousand pounds.
This heavy incumbrance was unaccompanied by any proportionate
means of liquidation; and he soon became so severely pressed by his
creditors, that he was compelled to absent himself from Ireland for an
interval of two years after his call to the bar. It must be quite unneces-
sary to say how darkly such a state of circumstances must have clouded
his youthful ambition; how like the aspect of ruin it must have ap-
peared. The way was nevertheless opening which was to extricate
him, so far at least as to enable him to enter upon the scene of his
professional labours and future successes.
Some time before, he had been introduced to Mr Crampton, then
residing in Merrion Square in Dublin. This gentleman was in his
family and among his acquaintance considered remarkable for his
sound and penetrating judgment in the observation of human charac-
ter; and it is now a satisfactory test of the justice of this character,
that he immediately formed a very high opinion of the merit and
qualifications of his new acquaintance, and expressed a confident anti-
cipation of his future distinguishing success at the bar. Mr Bushe
seems, from what we are enabled to infer, very soon after this intro-
duction to have conceived a strong attachment to Mr Crampton's third
daughter. This circumstance must have first been productive of a
painful aggravation of his distressing situation, when he found him-
self compelled to quit, together with his professional prospects, the
scene of those hopes and wishes which he is likely to have felt writh
such peculiar strength.
After an interval, during which he pursued his studies in his Welch
retreat, he returned to Dublin, probably with some definite prospect
of an arrangement with his father's creditors, such as might allow the
prosecution of his professional interests. His was not the temper of
mind to stand contentedly aside and let the world go by : and we can-
not now even conjecture to what extent the clouds which thus had
thrown a momentary shade upon the outset of his brilliant career,
may have begun to sever and let in a more cheering light. We can
only now say, that after a couple of years, he returned and entered on
his profession. As his marriage had been understood to await this
important preliminary, it soon followed, with the full consent and ap-
probation of every side. He had previously made such arrangements
as his circumstances admitted, for the settlement of the liabilities to
which his high and generous spirit had exposed him. The fortune
which he received with his wife, increased by a considerable loan from
an attached friend, enabled him to extricate himself from the immedi-
ate pressure of embarrassments, by paying off the most urgent of his
father's creditors. He then came to reside for a time in Merrion
Square, with his wife's mother.
Such a union might well be regarded as an event too important in
the history of his life, not to demand some especial notice. It was
indeed the happiest compensation for many evils in his position — for
288 POLITICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
the weary struggle that was yet before him. But we have not on
any previous occasion so strongly felt the difficulty of dealing with a
subject, which at the same time demands and forbids so much of
comment. The venerable and highly respected lady, to whom the
subject of our memoir was so deeply indebted for the best portion of
his comfort in this world, is, happily for her friends, still living, the
loved and cherished centre of the numerous circles of his descendants
and her own; and being fully aware of her extreme dislike to all allu-
sion to those qualifications which are too much known and valued to
be quite private, we feel that there would be something of a violation
of the sanctuary of a Christian's profound humility, to say much that
our feeling prompts and our subject requires. It may be desirable to
notice the circle of connexion into which Mr. Bushe was thus intro-
duced, Mr. Crampton's eldest daughter had been previously married
to the Reverend Gilbert Austin, the worthy and amiable rector of
Maynooth. Another was afterwards married to Mr. Smyly, a barrister
of very considerable eminence. Of Sir Philip Crampton, it must be
wholly unnecessary to speak. Mr. John Crampton, the eldest brother,
has also been well known in the best society of both countries, and
died a few years ago, as eminent for his enlarged and zealous piety,
and earnest promotion of the best and highest of causes as a true and
faithful servant of Christ, as he had in early life been for his gaiety,
and singularly active and powerful frame. Of the Rev. Josiah Cramp-
ton, rector of Castle Connel, we have not so directly the means of
speaking on our own personal knowledge; but we may here insert a
sentence written in after life by the illustrious subject of this memoir
himself. " I return you Joss's inestimable letter, full of all the good
realities of a fine downright unsophisticated character, a droilure and
justness both in thinking and feeling, which affectation could not
assume, and fiction could not invent." Such, indeed, was the character
of this estimable Christian minister, who never for a moment bent his
knee to Mammon, or lost sight of the proper character of his calling,
the highest, if rightly understood. He had, in common with most of
the members of his family, considerable talents. These few we select
from many who formed Mr. Bushe's first and inmost circle on his intro-
duction into professional life. It would be vain to enumerate the many
who at that period must have claimed familiarity with one so eminently
known for social attractions. These were the most gifted persons of
their time and country.
A considerable interval now followed, which does not admit of
distinct commemoration, unless by such notices as cannot be said in
any way to be connected with the progress of our narrative. We
have already taken occasion to state that, during this period, he made
little professional advance. He continued to walk the courts, if not
without a brief, at least without any opportunity of distinction, and
to go circuit, with but occasionally small employment for several years.
We can, however, most satisfactorily ascertain one fact : that among his
cotemporary lawyers, he held his proper estimation. And we can
have no doubt, that the general and evident sense of those best quali-
fied to judge, must have helped to sustain his courage during those
trying years, in which he continued to buffet with and withstand the
PKRIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 289
waves of adversity. His trials were, indeed, rough, and sufficient to
overwhelm a spirit of less energy, and less consciousness of power.
While he was pressed by the clamour of creditors from without, he
was haunted by the menace of straitened means within the home of
his tenderest affections — of the wife he loved, and of his increasing
family.
His talents were, it is true, known to government, and, as we shall
presently exemplify, brought offers which, under his circumstances,
few, indeed, could have rejected. The leaders of the Irish opposi-
tion were, in fact, all those who were capable of making any impres-
sion by their eloquence on the public. The accession of Mr Bushe
would have been cheaply bought by the administration, at any price.
Such offers came : they brought with them the feeling of honourable
indignation, and the painful sense of the claims of wife and children*
But happily for Bushe, his pure and lofty principles were shared in by
her whose peace alone could have induced an instant's hesitation,
and he invariably repelled every temptation to swerve from the strict
line in which his duty appeared to consist.
In the year 1797, he was elected member for the borough of Callan:
and it was not long before he found occasion enough to display an elo-
quence which, though far, indeed, from being appreciated according
to its real excellence, yet could not fail at once to place him high in
the foremost rank of orators. His speeches then, as ever after, mani-
fested little if anything of those popular ornaments, which were then
valued so much beyond their real merits by the people, because
they were accommodated to their taste, and cultivated by men of
superior understanding on account of their popular effect. There was
in Ireland a degree of barbaric taste for effect, which harmonized
powerfully with the strong popular passions which then prevailed.
And, accordingly, the adornment of trope and figure — the flight of
poetic diction — thepointed epigram — the keen retort — and the laboured
display of invective — were the study of the orator, and the admiration
of his hearers. More solid and higher qualities had indeed their
praise; but, unless in their highest degree of excellence, they were
scarcely second to the more ostentatious flights of ornamental lan-
guage, or displays of specious, though rather obvious and shallow dex-
terity, for which too much deduction is to be made in now estimating
even the greatest orators of that period. Among the very foremost
in celebrity of those, it is now curious to see how much of that
superiority consisted simply in manner, and how much of this was rather
the result of much elaboration on very vicious models than the genuine
production of real intellectual power ; and even when this power
must be acknowledged to have existed in a very high degree, it may
be no great hazard to say, that more fame was won by the tawdry
embellishment which delighted the vulgar ear, than by the more
pure and lofty display of intellectual power, or of detached and com-
prehensive knowledge. This will be easily observed in the ora-
tions of that truly great man Mr Grattan, in his earlier period.
Nothing can be less entitled to the praise of eloquence than the real
arguments and material statements of his best speeches. These are*
nevertheless, the real indications of his powerful and comprehensive
VOL. VI. T
290 POLITICAL SERIES. LSlXTH
intellect; but his fame was won by those less durable, though more
brilliant efforts, which, admirable in their way, would hardly have-
been remembered, but from the dry and stern elevations of Titanic
intellect which they accompany, but do not blend with.
Contrasted with such a style or styles, was the less ostentatious,
but far more masterly one, of which Mr Bushe may be regarded as
the facile princeps. A style difficult to convey any clear idea of by
mere description: impossible to conceive or to execute, without rare
gifts, in rarer combination. And this is not merely true, but even a
characteristic truth. It is easy to pursue a chain of reasoning, with
(of course) the aid of adequate, though still not uncommon power of
reason: it is easier still to soar into the well-frequented region of
metaphorical cloud work: the union of wit and gall, which the epi-
grammatic point combines, though somewhat rarer, is neither quite
uncommon, nor remarkably elevated in its claim, though a claimant,
perhaps, too formidable to be put off without due allowance. But
Bushe united all — the reason, the clear and lucid statement, the wit
of purest water, the dazzling play of fancy, the keen and terrible edge
of satire, in his most simple, pure, and classic flow of apt and yet
unstudied language. In his narrative, in his argument, in his reply,
the clear and unembarrassed method displayed a mind attentive only
to what was material ; while every sentence was rendered more effec-
tive than the most laboured glitter of ordinary rhetoric, by a pure,
rich, intrinsic beauty of diction — a light from the unseen source of
mind within. This quality, while it told on the simplest mind, was
itself a result of the most refined reach of perception and taste. An
exquisite adaptation of every word to his purpose — a perfect arrange-
ment of every word in every sentence — of every sentence in every
period — produced the fullest effect on the mind and ear that lan-
guage as an instrument could produce. Nor was this the result of
study, or of any elaborate effort for effect — it was the gift of nature :
the result of that prompt standard feeling, or tact, which cannot go
wrong without violence to itself. It was also, in a great measure,
produced by a sound and comprehensive conception of the real rela-
tions of things — in its ordinary indications called common sense;
but which Mr Bushe possessed in no ordinary degree: a quality
which gives their direction and value to every exertion of every
mental power. Such were the material elements of which the
most striking combinations may be exemplified in Mr Bushe's
oratory. At the present period of our narrative, it is likely
that his speeches, of which our reports are very imperfect, were
by no means equal to those of later times, because it is the pro-
perty of his style of speaking to improve; the common character of
all that comes from reason and observation. Yet, among the first of his
speeches which we can discover in the debates of the Irish commons,
there is a surprising pre-eminence in all the sounder and more standard
qualifications of a great speaker. In the debate on Mr Ponsonby's
motion, to bring in a bill to repeal an act for the suppression of dis-
turbances in 1797, the speech of Bushe is very remarkable for its
clear superiority over the other speeches of the same night, in the
apprehension and application of the real principles of the question of
PEUIOI).] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 291
debate, as well as from the unswerving connectedness with which he
followed out the course of his argument, and the entire absence of
those declamatory expansions which always, more or less, show a
feebleness of grasp, and a narrowness of range. We should also ob-
serve a curious fact — the newspaper reports of the speech from which
we shall presently extract, are far more full in matter, and finished in
style, than any other speeches reported on the same debate. This
cannot be accounted for, by assuming the well-known practice of pre-
paring speeches before-hand, and obtaining their insertion; because one
of the remarkable characters of this speech is that it is not merely an
opposition speech, but that Mr Bushe, on this occasion, with a masterly
tact, seizes on the arguments of the two principal speakers on the oppo-
site side, upon the combination of which he frames his answer. It would
be foreign from our design to enter upon the merits of the question that
night before the house; but it may be proper to observe that Mr
Bushe's part in the debate shows very forcibly the peculiar character
so strongly to be traced in every part of his life, that clear and
tenacious apprehension of principle, which never allowed him to be a
political partisan. Though he was not to be bought by government,
and though, like all high-spirited young men, his breast was swayed
by many popular feelings, he yet could not be deterred from the support
of the constitutional authority of the laws, either by a liberal view o£
popular rights, or by his opposition to the government party. The
necessity of measures of control, and that of the most stringent kind,
was so obvious at the moment, that we never have been able entirely
to understand how men, who were not themselves bent on a sanguinary
revolution, could impose upon themselves by the paltry reasons against
military law and coercive enactments, which were founded on state^
ments of fact which they must have known to be false, and views of prin-
ciple which a moment's reflection should have dissipated: yet such was
the staple of the addresses of the greatest popular orators of the day.
It is hard to say with what degree of sincerity men of understanding
minds and honourable feelings could babble of the constitution in be-
half of leniency towards as dangerous a conspiracy as ever was formed
against it. But these remarks would lead us too far: we have pro-
mised extracts for which the reader will be impatient. Having com-
menced, by some comments on Mr Fletcher's speech, Mr Fletcher
rose to explain his language; when he sat down, Mr Bushe proceeded;
— " Sir, I did not wilfully misrepresent the honourable gentleman, and
if I misconceived him, I am sorry for it. But, Sir, if I had not a
strong feeling, and a serious conviction on this night's question, if
I was obliged to argue in the mercenary and unfeeling character of
an advocate, I could not wish for stronger positions on which to
ground my opposition to the repeal of the Insurrection Act, than
those which have been laid down by the honourable mover, and the
honourable and learned gentleman (Mr Fletcher). The first of these
gentlemen has laid down as an undeniable principle, in which I al-
together concur with him, that the duty of statesmen and legislators
is to administer public affairs according to the peculiar circumstances
of particular times; and the other honourable gentleman, with that
292 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
strength of language which he so eminently possesses, has described
the present times to be new, strange, portentous, and formidable.
After such admissions from such high authority, I should go out of
my way if I argued whether the Insurrection Act was strictly agree-
able to the spirit of the constitution or not; for conceding for a mo-
ment that it was not so, I learn from the first of these positions that
the legislature is completely justified in enacting and continuing
this measure of coercion, as it has been called, provided the necessity
existed for it; and I learn from the other learned gentleman that the
necessity does exist for it, and that the present times are strange, por-
tentous, and formidable. But, Sir, I did not expect that the honour-
able gentleman who drew this striking picture of the novelty and
danger of the present times should call with so much triumph, and so
much doubt, for the proof of his own proposition. Individual mur-
ders (as he lightly called them) have been committed, says he ; but
where is the evidence of that public danger which necessitates coer-
cion? where are the documents? when was the inquiry? I really do
not know what evidence the honourable gentleman can require of
any fact, beyond the evidence of a man's own senses, and the deduc-
tions of his own understanding. To my senses, and to my under-
standing, the demonstration is complete; and if the honourable gen-
tleman has the same organs and the same intellects as other men, I
know nothing left for him to doubt of, but the testimony of his own
experience. The past and passing history of the country evinces, be-
yond controversy, the truth of his assertion, that the times are por-
tentous and formidable, at the same time that they contradict his in-
ference by affirming his position, and refute his conclusion that the
danger does not create the necessity. It is upon this high and para-
mount species of evidence that a high court of legislature grounds
its proceedings, and I am sure that the honourable gentleman does
not wish to narrow us into a court of Nisi Prius, and to produce
witnesses on the table by subpoena ad testificandum to demonstrate
the deductions of every man's reason, and the observations of every
man's experience: to go beyond such evidence and call for documents,
appears to me the height of scepticism, and seems to revive the in-
genious folly of that fanciful philosophy which asserted that all which
is, is not, and proved the non-existence of matter by the evidence of
our senses."
From this extract, it may be seen with what adroitness and force,
and yet with what simplicity, and how much admirable method, the
speaker has seized upon and shaped his argument from the statements
of the adverse speakers. The following brief extract from the same
speech will exemplify more than one quality of high value to the
orator. After dwelling strongly on the proofs that there existed
real dangers in the actual state of the country, he gives, in the
following passage, a sensible illustration, which must have strongly im-
pressed his hearers. " I pass by the inferior trials of the Defenders,
though pregnant with proof in support of this fact, and I recall his
recollection to that evidence which has driven the unfortunate Mr
Rowan into exile and disgrace ; to that evidence which produced the
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 293
tragedy of Mr Jackson; and to that by which, and by the lenity of
government, an unhappy gentleman now wastes upon the desert air of
an American plantation, the brightest talents that I ever knew a man
to be gifted with. Who that is acquainted with the fate and melan-
choly history of this gentleman, can doubt the deliberate plan which
was well laid, and nearly executed, of invading this country by a
French army, dissevering it from Great Britain, and establishing a
democracy? I am sorry such a fact is so decidedly proved, and I am
sorry that it is proved in such a manner, for I never shall speak, or
ever think of the unhappy gentleman to whom I allude, with acrimony
or severity. I knew him from early infancy as the friend of my youth,
and companion of my studies; and while I bear testimony to the
greatness of his abilities, I shall also say of him, that he had a heart
which nothing but the accursed spirit of perverted politics could mis-
lead or deprave ; and I shall ever lament his fate with compassion for
his errors, admiration for his talents, and abhorrence for his political
opinions."
We cannot here, as on former occasions, enter into the history of
a time which has been already noticed in these pages, for the purpose
of showing that Mr Bushe was as clearly right as he was eloquent
and effective. The justice of his exposition would indeed claim no
praise, were it not for the fact that other men of high political reputa-
tion, who like him were inclined to popular politics, spoke and acted
in defiance of the plain facts of the time, as well as the clear princi-
ples of the question.
At this period of his history we are enabled to trace him through
the Leinster circuit, by several letters of which our fast contract-
ing limits do not here permit the use. It does not appear that, at
the time, his professional employment was increasing to any consider-
able amount. But we find in his family correspondence the overflow
of mental activity, and of those deep and fervent affections which
through life continued to be the ornament and delight of the inner
circle of his home. We can also, in the same easy and unstudied
effusions, discern, in its purest and simplest form, the same rich and
graceful flow of fancy and feeling which characterized his conversation
in the world, or his public displays of forensic eloquence. In his corres-
pondence, these qualities are set off by a deeper glow of heart, which, re-
strained in public, or among strangers, by fastidious tact, or not called
forth by the occasion, could not be conceived by those who only met
him in company. It would, indeed, be an omission of one of the most
distinguishing features of his mind, not to observe upon the aspect
of character thus shown, and which, therefore, we the more regret
being for the present compelled to withhold. His letters possessed a
charm, never, in any instance we can recall to mind, exemplified in any
approaching degree. In these, an unconscious facility of comparison
and contrast, and a flow of just and pregnant observation, are enliv-
ened and ornamented by the graceful gaiety which stamps them with
the character of perfect ease, and throws a charm of repose over the
periods which, from any ordinarv pen, would bear the impression
of labour. The impression we desire here, in the absence of exam-
294 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
pies, to convey, is, that the style of these compositions is not merely
unlaboured, but that it carries in itself the internal evidence of ease.*
Occasionally we find intimations of a retainer, but nothing for some
years occurred to enable him to prove his powers as an advocate.
The first occasion which really brought him into fair professional
notice, was one which frequently occurs in the history of the bar. We
have not at this moment in our possession any report of the trial at
"which it took place, nor is it indeed material ; the fact is generally
notorious. A cause of some importance, in which he happened to be
retained, came on for hearing at a moment when the senior counsel
was otherwise engaged. Mr Bushe was next in rotation, and as his
duty required, urged the necessity of delay. To this the judge would
-not consent, and impatiently asked if the junior was prepared to go on.
Happily, the answer was affirmative, and he was peremptorily desir-
ed to proceed. It was soon felt that his client was no loser by the
change; he showed a thorough command of the case, and his exer-
tions were crowned with success. It was at once felt that a new and
distinguished claimant to the honours and practice of the bar, had
established his place; and from this day, briefs poured in freely.
Mr Bushe was soon as involved in an overflow of practice, as he had
till then been immersed in anxieties arising from the weight of here-
ditary debt.
It was some time in 1799, when he had become largely engaged in
professional business, and had also attained a very high parliamentary
reputation, that Mr Bushe received a visit at his house in Baggot
Street, from two gentlemen officially connected with government, both
most probably commissioned to treat for his services; one of whom,
professing the most anxious friendship, apprized him of the very
high consideration in which his character and abilities were held
by lord Cornwallis; and told him that there were several situations
vacant, that of the Rolls, of Attorney, and of Solicitor-general, to
any of which he was considered eligible, and that he had but to
choose and express his wishes. Mr Bushe acknowledged that it would
be most desirable for him to obtain any of these promotions; but that,
looking at the political measures actually contemplated by the admini-
stration, he felt that some sacrifice of opinion, and of what he regarded
as his public duty, must be looked for in return. That otherwise, if
the lord lieutenant actually considered it fit and right on grounds of
public service or private regard to promote him, he would do so; but
that he himself would not sacrifice his independence by seeking any
favour, or take office under the trammel of obligations. We state this
incident explicitly here, because it is one of the utmost importance in
* It may, with apparent justice, be objected, that some specimen at least of
the epistolary powers which we have described, ought not to have been withheld
from the public. We have, however, to plead the limits which we were bound to
keep, and which we have been but too apt to transgress. To such compositions
as the letters in our possession, all specimens would b'e an injustice, and they
must, when made public, be given in their integrity. For this duty we must be
content to remain debtors to the public ; but the debt shall (if permitted,) be paid
in no long time.
CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 295
the estimate of the character of Mr Bushe. In the summary sketch
which we have given of lord Clare, we gave a brief statement of those
arts of bribery and corruption by which the measure of the Union was
carried in 1800. The mere purchase of a vote was not inconsider-
able; but that of a man like Mr Bushe was the highest; and not only
promotion but still prospective elevation to rank and place would have
been within the sure prospect of venal talent. But Mr Bushe, who
as we have just seen, had the rare manliness to spurn the clamour of
mere nationality, and to resist the impositions of popular enthusiasm and
prejudice, while he still held the steady line of unswerving patriotism,
has equally shown his lofty firmness and incorruptible integrity by
trampling on the temptations of ambition and the flatteries of power.
The case is not the same as that of some other great men who took
the same part: there were few indeed of these who had not so com-
mitted themselves with the rebel party, or who were not so wholly
abandoned in spirit and principle to the popular party, that it was not
in their power to recede, without an infamous abandonment of their very
identity as public men; to such persons, the highest elevation could afford
no shelter for their pride. That these were the motives of those great
men we do not insinuate ; we merely mark a difference of position.
We mean that such motives, were there not higher, must have
restrained them. But Mr Bushe stood wholly unfettered by such
ties; he stood not more clear of Castle influence, than unsullied by
the slightest subserviency to the exactions of popular caprice; as he
disregarded the cant of patriotism, so he repelled the splendid corrup-
tion of power. Had he been for the Union, he could, with less re-
proach than most others, have taken the part of a government which
made such an effort to secure him. But in common with many others,
he entertained opinions hostile to that measure. With such opinions,
the readers of these memoirs are aware that we do not agree. In
claiming for Mr Bushe, in common with his eminent compatriots, the
high praise of independence and integrity on that memorable occasion,
we are far indeed from asserting for them that of skilful and compre-
hensive policy. They were men of the highest intellectual powers
— rthey were fine scholars, eloquent orators, and able lawyers ; but it
no more follows that they were or could have been profound states-
men than skilful painters. The cant of party politics, which is not
very superior to the " cant of criticism," has so wholly preoccupied the
public mind with its false criterions, that in speaking of the conduct
of public men, it is not easy to do justice. To have comprehended
the whole, and still more, the remote consequences of a measure like
the Union, at that period, demanded a political education in a school
different from the arena of lawlessness, antisocial opinion, and admini-
strative corruption, then existing in Ireland. Lawyers, no doubt,
may be assumed to have the most just insight into the principles of
the legal constitution of the nation; beyond this, and this is little in-
deed, this very knowledge may be observed to carry with it a remark-
able inaptitude for the full comprehension of the much larger ques-
tions which depend on the relation of the laws and institutions of the
country to its social and economical condition. There is between
positive institutions and the great law of social progress, a species of
296 POLITICAL SERIES.
contrary action which we have already pointed out; and this contra-
riety will mostly be found marked in the intellects of great lawyers
as compared with those of great statesmen; not from any real differ-
ence of intellectual stature, but from difference of mental habits. The
objections to the Union then put forward by Bushe, Plunket, Saurin,
Grattan, and Magee, we admit to have been not merely specious,
but just, so far as they could go; and what is more, we think their
truth to be more evident than that of the reasons on the opposite side.
But in truth the former lay upon the surface; they were obvious first
anc. immediate consequences, which were palpable to the dull eye of
popular sense. The same may be said of most of the arguments for
the measure ; but in fact the question in its remoter and ultimate bear-
ings could not then have been at all understood. The then future and
far distant effects of the accelerating progress of the social state to-
wards a form of which an intense and irresistible centralization must
be a result inevitable as fate, could not have been foreseen, and is yet
but partially understood. It could not be foreseen by human fore-
sight, that a state of things must arise in which a parliament in Dublin
would be as absurd as one parliament in Westminster, and another at
Blackwall. And if a digressive observation may be here allowed, we
may add, that the great question then not understood, is yet misap-
prehended by those who have adopted the same patriotic view of it;
as we are satisfied that the full carrying out of their demands would
be the abolition of all parliaments, unless on the supposition of certain
ulterior elements which have not yet appeared. We have not fully
stated our views on this point, but we have said so much, because we
think that it is the most satisfactory method of showing the necessity
of declining a discussion which should lead into such intricate and
difficult inquiries.
But setting such considerations aside, and referring to the discus-
sion on the night of January 21, 1800, we have no hesitation in as-
signing the highest merit to the admirable speech made on that night
by Mr Bushe. It was not, like those of Mr Grattan and some other
eminent men — a speech to be represented fairly by extracts. The
staple of his eloquence did not consist in wrought up passages ; he
did not deal much in those elaborate parallels and contrasts which are
the popular instruments of speech, but in a more refined and consum-
mate play of mind, which, as it grew out of his line of argument, dif-
fused its even light and grace as well as its effect and impressive
power over the whole. The subject of that night did not in a great
measure admit of the peculiar graces of his style, but it pre-eminently
brought forth some of his graver and profounder qualities. Too earnest
and too clear, to indulge in the rhetorician's lighter play, his power was
that night shown by his close and unrelaxing grasp of the previous
speakers to whom he rose to reply. In consequence of this, his speech
exhibits a peculiar play of what might not inappropriately be called
logical wit, by which, while he follows out a masterly statement of his
own views, he seems to dally and sport with the inconsistencies of his
opponents. Looking to most of his rivals (if we may so term them), a
dry statement of fact and argument is now and then wound up by a few
sentences of great effect. Mr Bushe's statements, as simple in expres-
PERIOD ] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 297
sion and as true in sense, were never dry, but always adorned with a
phraseology of which the point, propriety, and terse arrangement,
conceal the idiomatic simplicity; more truly, indeed, answering to
the simplex munditiis of the Roman poet than most results of art we
can recall to mind. These considerations are essential to any specific
view of his parliamentary efforts. In his bar speeches we shall need
no such qualification. In these, a wider play was afforded to his
unrivalled powers of advocacy, his playful fancy, his keen and fine
satire, the dexterity of suggestion, and the power of narration, in which
it is at least doubtful if he has ever been equalled. But of this here-
after, our business is now with his speech on the Union.
As specimens of eloquence, we might take any passage of this
speech, and may therefore first select one with reference to a con-
sideration already explained in this memoir; that is, the vindica-
tion of Mr Bushe's consistency against a species of accusation which
has often been preferred against him, as well as other eminent men,
by quoting their speeches made on this occasion. They who would
draw any such unfair inferences from such matter, will do well to
read attentively the whole of Mr Bushe's speech against the Union,
and see to what principles he refers, and on what ground he argues.
If they will not practically allow for the great real changes which the
state of a question may undergo, they may find, in statements such as
the following, reasons for a charge different from inconsistency: —
" But this is not all, the government of the country has appealed from
the decision of parliament, and to whom have they appealed? Not
to the constituent body constitutionally recognised; not to the electors
of the kingdom; nor the freeholders; but to the people individually:
abusing that most monstrous proposition of reforrri1 and innovation —
I mean of universal suffrage — and canvassing the rabble of the king-
dom, ag-ainst the constitution of the country. A government wielding
the whole influence of the crown at the head of every department — the
army the church, and the revenue, exercises all its authority to pro-
cure individual signatures as a counterbalance to the opinion of the
representatives of the people in parliament assembled." This re-
proach involves both a feeling and a principle which is wholly at
variance with the entire mind of those who have thought proper to
quote Mr Bushe for their own support, or who have set him against
himself. He in reality never entertained those views which are now
those of the popular party in Ireland. As public questions then stood,
the distribution of opinion and principle was wholly different, and to
those who take the trouble to think strictly, such comparisons are
soon found devoid of meaning.
The following passage offers more of the orator, but is also full of
historic interest. " I should be glad to know, Sir, if this amend-
ment be unnecessary, of what use have been the campaigns and peram-
bulations of his excellency the lord lieutenant since the last session of
parliament? Why has his excellency subjected himself to the fatigue
of so many inarches and countermarches? Why did he think it neces-
sary to write down the constitution of Ireland in a correspondence,
through his military secretary, with the seneschal of every close
borough, with whose patron he had previously communicated, and
298 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
with every parish priest who was sufficiently complaisant to induce his
flock to sign manifestoes against the parliament of this country, if
after all the crown is to meet the parliament, blinking and skulking
from the premeditated determination of extinguishing it for ever."*
As we have said, it is one of the highest praises of the speeches of
Mr Bushe, that they are not to be adequately represented by extracts,
as for the most part they consist in a single and uniform tissue of rea-
soning and statement, flowing from a deep and vital grasp that seldom
relaxed enough for the small ambitious art of compounding sentences.
The speech from which the foregoing extracts are given — by no
means for any rhetorical peculiarity — is throughout distinguishable for
the power of applying constitutional principle, or for the prompt dex-
terity with which weak points are seized, or by which seeming advan-
tages on the opposite side, are converted into points of attack. But
we have still a lengthened task before us, and must retain scope for
specimens of maturer art and power, in the bar speeches of this illus-
trious advocate.
After the Union, Mr Bushe, in common with other eminent men of
the day, entertained strong apprehensions for the future respectability
and prosperity of his own profession in this country, and had nearly
made up his mind to try his fortune at the English bar. Such a
change must have placed him under many serious disadvantages; but
we can safely say that his qualifications were not of a nature to be
lost in the crowd. It so happened that the measure which he had so
ably resisted, was favourable in its immediate consequences to him-
self. He was not, as was the case with many, an opponent to the ad-
ministration either from party connection, or from any popular feel-
ing; he had never been led to commit himself to any line of party
conduct. Having taken for his rule of conduct solely the sense and
spirit of a constitutional lawyer, he had met all such questions as had
claimed his attention as a member of parliament, simply on their legal
and constitutional merits. He had supported the lawful authority of
the government against extreme opposition, to which he never had lent
his sanction. He had not less strenuously joined in the vindication of
such popular rights as met with the assent of his own independent
reason. To what extent in this lofty course he may have been mis-
led or the contrary, it is no part of our present duty to say; it
was the part of a noble and generous mind, that could never be won
or daunted, though it might, with all that is human, err. But to him
its result was, that the immediate effect of the Union left no impor-
tant difference between him and the government. And as his repu-
tation had then attained a high level, the discernment of Mr Pitt,
which had early marked him out for promotion, was not slow to seize
the earliest occasion which offered; and in 1803, on the dissolution
* The point of this language depends on the manner in which the question was
brought before the house. The measure of the Union had been rejected in the
former session, and the minister thought it necessary to keep back the discussion
till he was prepared with what was not inaptly called a " packed parliament," all
mention of it was therefore omitted in the king's speech. To resist this design,
the question was on this occasion brought forward by the opposition, in their
motion of amendment on the address.
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 299
of the Grenville administration, he was raised to the rank of Solicitor-
general.
In this first step, which may be said to have secured his prospects,
some able and eloquent writers, themselves possessed by popular views,
have discerned difficulties, and others found matter for censure, with
neither of which we agree. Against the assumptions of both, we have
already in some measure guarded, in shaping our former statements;
but as these statements are express, and have been often repeated, we
must here add a little special comment. We have, in the foregoing para-
graph, described the independent character of his political conduct;
but though he did not in the slightest degree sail in the wake of
popular leaders, or still less by the breath of popular opinion, yet as
for a long time his own views held him in the same course with the
Irish opposition, in some great and leading questions of policy, he had
thus actually gained a popularity which he never sought, and obtained
also the reputation of holding the same general views as those with
whom he had acted. From this arose some very natural, and there-
fore excusable errors; for a character was imputed to him by the un-
distinguishing heat of popular opinion, and by this character he was
judged. Lesser points of opposition were soon forgotten, and his real
views of principle were not yet known but to intimates ; and in this
country, in which all courses of action were on the popular side ex-
treme, and on the government side assumed to be so; when all was,
in the loose parlance of popular oratory, resolved into a vital contest
between despotism and patriotic resistance, there existed no sober
predicamental line to which to refer the steady mind of constitutional
regard for the rights of both. Hence arose mistakes which never
have been cleared, because the facts have never been looked at with-
out some bias to either side. It has been thought that, by this pro-
motion, Mr Bushe was placed in somewhat of a false position, in
which he was compelled to support a line of policy on the part of the
Attorney-general, which was contrary to his own opinions; and, con-
sequently, that he must have been led to trim his notions to meet the
requisitions of his personal interest. Somewhat more delicate
language has of course been used ; but to repel such insinuations, it
is necessary to be explicit. We entirely, and in the most unqualified
manner, deny that any change in any real principle of action or opi-
nion, is to be detected in the whole of Mr Bushe's conduct, from first
to last. Some changes his mind underwent, in common with the best
and ablest thinkers — the state of questions changed — the action of
laws changed — the entire texture of parties changed — the relations
of claims, relative position, and social processes between parties and
nations have changed and been changing ; and even in the interval of
time between the parliamentary and official engagements of Mr Bushe,
there occurred incidents of no slight nature, well adapted to impress
thinking men with strong doubts of the soundness of their views, who
till then had been the organs or the leaders of popular feeling in Ire-
land. But indeed, even this consideration ought to be unnecessary —
as the ardour of youth subsides, and sober experience begins to give
its indispensable aid to the right understanding of public questions,
300 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
much change of conduct (did such appear) might be looked for in any
one who might act sincerely from principle.
There ought surely to be no doubt as to the interpretation which
Mr Bushe must have put on the revolutionary principles of the United
Irishmen. Emmett's rebellion finds no sanction in any of his speeches
or conduct. Whether in these matters he thought rightly or wrongly,
we do not contest ; there is no doubt as to his actual opinions, and if
there were, we could meet that doubt. Now, a moment's consideration
must show that these and such facts were the only real grounds of con-
struction as to the intent, and still more, as to the effect of such de-
monstrations on the part of individuals or bodies, as showed them-
selves in the same manner, assumed the same tone, and expressed the
same sentiments as had on former occasions been the mask and cloak
of the first movements of insurrection. That such must necessarily
be their constant intent, we do not say; but there is in human affairs
no infallible criterion which can warrant the lawyer and statesman to
fling aside the only known rules of experience and historical prece-
dent. Mr Bushe resisted the Union because he thought that measure
fraught with many ills— and his view stands recorded with all his
reasons; but the same sense which led him to resist the popular mem-
bers in 1797, in the debate on the insurrection act, operated to con-
vince him in 1803, and succeeding years, of the duty and the necessity
of supporting the laws and government, and the peace of the country,
against lawless factions, and wrong-headed mischief-makers, under
the specious name of patriots. Those indeed who best knew this
great man, and who were most competent to form an opinion of him,
are aware that if such a fault can be said to exist, it was his fault to
cherish the very shadow of a principle, with a stern and uncompro-
mising tenacity, in all matters in which conduct was involved. They
who knew him superficially, could not so well detect this habit, in him
peculiar from its amount; as in ordinary conversation it was wholly
concealed by his singular freedom from the pedantry of dogmatizing
in social intercourse.
With respect to the actual merits of the line of policy which was
then administered by the law advisers of the crown, we shall more
appropriately notice it (so far as we must), in a future memoir.
Though' friendly to the objects of his fellow countrymen of the Roman
church, Mr Bushe is not to be therefore assumed as favourable to the
course then pursued for the attainment of their objects. In connec-
tion with his able colleague in office, he considered it quite fit for
them to look for a disengagement from every constitutional restraint;
but it is not enough considered, that he looked on their proceedings
with a lawyer's eye. The means were illegal; they bore also too
close an analogy, both in form and in the language used, to the similar
proceedings of an unfortunate period, of which he was himself a living
witness. Some distinctions there did exist, but these were then scarcely
palpable — we may, perhaps, discuss them in a succeeding memoir. We
only make these remarks to express our general dissent from some
comments, which have dropped from other writers, on the position in
which office must have placed him. He loved the people, but cared
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 301
little for popular praise or blame; his respect for truth and right left
no room for such an infirmity. And we must further remark, that the
bland and graceful suavity of his manner has been also a means of
leading casual observers into a notion, not only in itself fallacious, but
likely to contribute to the false impression here discussed: so con-
siderable, indeed, has been the mistake on this point, that we shall
have to enter upon a full explanation of this remarkable and much re-
marked part of his character; we may therefore pass it by for the pre-
sent. It will here be enough to say, that we cannot recall to mind any
instance of a man more direct and single-minded in the principles of his
conduct, or in the feeling and spirit which governed its uniform and un-
swerving course. Like all persons who love to reciprocate good will,
and who shrink from stain, he could feel injurious comments; but it was
only when they followed him into his retirement — when the fight was
over. In action, he defied comment, and spurned apprehension, and
had no hesitations but those from which fools alone are free.
The first remarkable occasion which brought Mr Bushe forward in
his official character, rose out of the trials in 181 1, of which we must
offer a brief account, for the purpose of rendering intelligible some
extracts with which we shall follow it. In August, 1811, several
persons of respectability were arrested in Dublin, on a charge of
.attending a parish meeting to elect representatives of the Irish Roman
Catholic body, "for the purpose or under the pretence" of preparing
petitions to parliament, contrary to the provisions of the Act 33 Geo.
III., commonly called the Convention Act. In the following Novem-
ber, they were brought to trial in the King's Bench. The occasion
was one of great public interest, and the court was crowded by all
parties. It ought to be observed, that it was purely the trial of a
question as to the power and interpretation of the law, as the Attorney-
general had no intention of carrying the proceedings to a penal result,
but simply sought to vindicate the law of the land as it stood. In
the course of a long and obstinately contested trial, many points of
dispute, as usual, arose, which we shall explain as they may become
essential to our present purpose. The main point was, of course, that
of the express violation of the law — "the election or appointment of as-
semblies purporting to represent the people, or any description or num-
ber of people of the realm, under pretence of preparing or presenting
petitions," &c., &c. On this act, there were two prosecutions in the
same year, both occupying the same grounds. For as the jury brought
in a verdict of not guilty in the first instance, grounded expressly on
the insufficiency of the evidence, the offence was repeated, and it
became a direct and open question between the law and the conven-
tion of delegates. Each time the reply on the part of the crown fell
to the Solicitor-general, and we have two speeches of admirable wit
and power, to supply us with specimens of his manner. But first we
must request that the reader may bear in mind what we have already
explained. Our specimens are really what we term them — not elab.o-
rate flights of embellished language, or keen flashes such as come few
and far between, but specimens of a flowing and spontaneous felicity
of style and method, remarklfcle for the grace, ease, and aptitude of
its application to the call and purpose of the moment. We shall here,
302 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
for the sake of compendiousness, extract indifferently from both
speeches. Mr Burrowes had led for the traversers, with a speech of
vast eloquence and skill, in which he had contrived to embarrass the
actual question with a variety of inflammatory and irrelevant topics,
as well as refined but false verbal distinctions. To meet these, and
remove the impressions thus raised, was in both instances the duty of
the Solicitor. After a brief, nervous, and graceful preface, in which
he expresses his determination to confine himself " to the only two
topics which seem to have been forgotten this day" — the law and the
fact — he begins by animadverting on the efforts of his opponents to
make the discussion one of politics. " Gentlemen, it is not my incli-
nation, or my duty, and I disclaim the right, to address you upon any
of those popular topics, which have been so laboriously and passion-
ately urged upon you by the traversers' counsel. I recollect the place
in which I stand — I know that I am in a court of justice, and not in a
house of parliament. I shall not stop to inquire how far these gen-
tlemen may have abused that latitude of discussion which is permitted
to those who defend an accused man. I wish not to abridge the free
exercise of such a privilege — although I may be allowed to observe,
that it has been indulged in this day without stint, and carried to its
utmost limits. Be that as it may, a colder duty devolves on me; I
prosecute, the man whom they defend, and God forbid that, in doing
so, I should appeal to anything but your understandings."
It was elaborately endeavoured by Mr Burrowes to confound the
jury into an adjudication on the legal merits of the cause. The force
and skill of the Solicitor's comment is very striking. " I am sure that
it is not necessary to remind you that you are not empanelled to decide
upon great political and constitutional questions, which have been so
much agitated this day; that you are not legislators, but jurors; and
that your oaths bind you to a fair verdict between the crown and the
traverser. But it is very necessary to observe upon the confusion of
jurisdiction which has been contended for this day, and the very un-
fair attempts which have been made to induce you to usurp the autho-
rity of the court. Gentlemen, your exclusive province is to decide
upon the facts in controversy between the parties; instead of which,
you have been clamorously called upon to interpret the laws of the
land. The mummery of sending up a dozen copies of an act of par-
liament has been resorted to, and you have been called upon to decide
upon its policy as if you were senators, and to construe its enactments
as if you were lawyers. You have been told that its provisions were
difficult of interpretation — that learned counsel have differed upon
them — and that it has been objected to the convention law, that it
requires professional astuteness to expound it; and yet the same advo-
cate calls upon twelve respectable citizens, to resolve, upon their oaths,
all those intricate and entangled questions, as if your habits, your
education, or your studies, enabled you to decide upon them."
The next extract we shall make, displays the same style of language,
so characteristic for its elegance and point, half concealed by its terse
propriety. It will also exhibit much of the dexterity of which he is
always so consummate a master, in throwing an aspect of absurd
contradiction over the elaborate defence of the adverse counsel. An
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 303
elaborate and prolix examination of the witnesses, for the purpose of
breaking1 down the proof of the facts, was followed by a most power-
ful speech by Mr Burrowes, which assumes their reality, and defends
their legality and justice. After pointing out the plain fact, that if
the allegations of the indictment were false, the defendant could con-
tradict them by producing numerous persons who were actually present
in court, Mr Bushe goes on — " You are called upon rashly to disbe»
lieve what they will not controvert ; to impute, by your verdict,
perjury to those witnesses for the crown; and to declare on your oaths
that you do not believe that which they will not deny. Gentlemen, I
am at a loss, in discharging this duty, to discover what I am to reply
to : one counsel asserts his client's innocence, in point of fact — the
other glories in his crime in point of law; — nay, the one half of each
counsel's speech is an answer to the other : they alternately rail
against the witnesses, and declaim in favour of the offence. What
has been their conduct as to Mr Huddleston, the remaining witness ?
What has been left unsaid, or unattempted, in his cross-examination?
Two hours of precious and irrecoverable time have been consumed,
in attempting to discredit a witness who has only proved the pro-
ceedings of the aggregate meeting of the 9th of July, at which lord
Fingal presided. No suborned miscreant, who had attempted to
swear away an innocent man's life, was ever treated with more
asperity. No advocate, retained for a felon at the Old Bailey, ever
plunged more desperately through a cross-examination, trembling for
the wretch whose only defence was the hope of confounding his prose-
cutor, or supporting his alibi. The man's feelings were agonized — he
was stretched on a rack and tortured — his private life anatomized —
his most secret sentiments scrutinized — he was called on to swear to
his religious opinions; — and, even in this court, public disgust was
clamorously excited, by exhibiting him as a recreant from the reli-
gion of his ancestors — his birth, his connexions, his country, his
faith, his morals, his circumstances, all ransacked — all exposed.
He was asked, was he not a deist — was he not an atheist — had he not
been a catholic — was he not a protestant — had he not been an offi-
cer?" &c After adverting to the avowed pur-
pose that all this questioning was to shake the witness's credit, " Gen-
tlemen, why so shake his credit? It required not the storm of Mr
Goold's eloquence to subvert it — a breath from lord Fingal would have
dissipated it. That noble personage sat under your box at the mo-
ment, and sits there now," &c. We add here another striking and
most characteristic description of the cross-examination of another of
the witnesses: — "You, gentlemen, must judge for yourselves as to
the effects of his cross-examination, and if you are able to form any
opinion of it, your heads and mine must be made of very different
materials. My learned friend, Mr Burne, must not suppose me to
insinuate that his discharge of his duty was unnecessary or prolix; he
must permit me, however, to say, that it was somewhat prolonged.
No one discharges his professional duty with more ability or effect
than he does; but he will remember (I am sure I shall never forget
it) that he examined John Shepherd for three hours and a-half, ' by
Shrewsbury clock:' — there are limits to the human faculties, and I
304 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
must confess that, at last, mine were so exhausted by this process, that
I was unable to carry away a definite idea, or even a distinct sentence :
the victim on the table at last swam before my eyes, and some con-
fused, buzzing sound, like a catch- word, in the examination ; notes,
drafts, copies, informations, &c., &c., rang discordantly in my dizzy
head, and tingled in my ears. Gentlemen, if such were the effects
produced upon a mere suffering auditor, what must have been the
sensations of the witness himself? and, let me ask you, if the man had
fallen into contradictions and inconsistencies, who could have been
surprised at it ? who has sufficient confidence in his own memory or
nerves, in his own strength of body or mind, to suppose that he could
come out from such an ordeal more than alive : let me put it to the
candour of my learned and ingenious friend, Mr Burne — how does he
suppose that he would have endured such a peine forte et dure him-
self? let him imagine himself nailed to that chair, and that chair fas-
tened to that table, and another Mr Burne — if another could be pro-
cured— sitting down in regular assault before him. and for three
hours and a-half battering and beleaguering him like a besieged town
— let me ask him how he thinks he would feel about the time that his
adversary became tired of the attack! really, gentlemen, nothing is so
unfair as to judge rashly of a man's credit who has been exposed to
such a trial."
The dexterity of these extracts it is easy to appreciate : nor is it ne-
cessary to call the attention of the classical reader to the purity, the
select propriety, and point of the diction, or the admirable method which
so simply, directly, and intensely communicates the desired impres-
sion. It will also be at once felt how much of dignified intellectual
composure every sentence suggests, so that his very manner is made
to tell. All this, we think, is at once conveyed. But no extracts
can convey the fact, that this is not a selection of peculiarly happy
passages from the ordinary flow of a more common style; that we
have selected our specimens, without regard to style, merely looking
for passages capable of being so detached without Josing their in-
terest. But when all this is said, a more important criticism remains.
The Solicitor's speeches seldom convey an impression of the ap-
parently profound character which so often gives a kind of im-
posing effect of power to those of many of his great competitors,
who seem to be moving in deep waters, often where their opponent
appears to glide upon the surface: and this has misled inadvertent
criticism. But let it be observed, that the apparently simple and
easy common-sense reply never fails to drag up, from their erudite
depth, the arguments of his adversary, and to show their entire fallacy.
His extraordinary simplicity, and the elementary tact of his percep-
tions, deceive the reader, who thinks too lightly of the art so well
concealed, and too respectfully of the effort involved in a darkness of
its own creation. It is, indeed, a curious fact, more discernible, per-
haps, to the disengaged perception of an unprofessional reader, than
it would be to a mind restricted by legal habits, that if any one will
attentively read the entire trial here adverted to, he must be struck
with very remarkable peculiarities, both in the whole conduct of the
defence, and in the arguments of those who conducted it, which he
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 305
will find to have been ably seized on in the Solicitor's replies. In
these, the ordinary fallacies and dexterous devices of advocacy are,
with great apparent simplicity, encountered by a prompt recourse to
the elementary principles of a broader method of reason: insomuch
that, in their perusal, we have sometimes felt that if a work on the
history of bar-practice were to be written, how admirably they might
take a place in a philosophical commentary on the radical vices and
fallacies to which the reasoning of lawyers in penal causes is subject.
The needless and unfair cross-examination, which can have no effect on
any jury but a jury of idiots — the dexterity which deceives nobody — are
admirably and most truly exposed. It would, perhaps, seem invidious to
dwell on these topics ; but it is impossible to pass on without observing
how very often the cross-examination carries the impression of being
simply vindictive : how much it resembles a trial of skill, in which the
examiner only thinks of displaying his superiority at any cost. We
abstain from the censure which forces itself on our pen, from our very
unfeigned respect for the high profession, to some gifted members of
which it might seem to apply. We shall endeavour to compensate for
these comments, by one or two more extracts from the same speeches.
To an artful appeal of Mr Burrowes to the public feeling of the jury,
the Solicitor replies, " He has called upon you for a healing verdict,
and has told you that the last verdict was most healing. Gentlemen,
I shall never hear, without reprobation, such a call upon a jury: I
trust that no such dreadful precedent may be established, as the find-
ing of popular and political verdicts. If the public mind requires to
be healed, I trust that the consciences of jurors may never be bruised
into a nostrum for the purpose; that jurors may never turn state em-
pirics, and fancy that they are prescribing for the distempered com-
monwealth; that they are politicians, and not jurors; and that they
are at liberty to perjure themselves for the good of their country. No
verdict can be righteous which is not founded upon the evidence, and
the public weal can never be advanced by frustrating the administra-
tion of justice. In the name of God, if you disbelieve the evidence
you have heard, nay, if you reasonably doubt it, acquit Mr Kirwan —
if you do not, fabricate not doubts for yourselves, which no fair mind
or sound head can sanction, merely to achieve what you may think a
public good. Take the law from the court, and for fact consult your
understandings and your consciences, but compromise not your oaths,
and trifle not with your solemn duty."
We have made these extracts at no slight disadvantage, arising
chiefly from the usual manner in which such extracts are made, and
the consequent understanding, which much tends to bias the judgment.
The method to which we advert, is the ordinary selection of highly-
wrought or embellished passages, which, though in themselves very
worthy of admiration, are yet in no way fairly characteristic of the
speaker. The effect of this common practice is, to have raised a
false standard of criticism, the assumption of which would only place
an orator like Mr Bushe in the false position of a comparison with
that most inferior class of speakers and writers, of which the produc-
tion of such passages is the sole distinction. A false idea of what is
excellent in speeches and writing — but especially in the former — has
VOL VI. TJ
306 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTN
been variously propagated ; and, to please the vulgar ear, it is neces-
sary to be viciously ingenious or gaudily fine; and in this country too
much has been sacrificed to win the vulgar ear. Hence the more
chastened and refined art which preserves the standard forms of ex-
pression, and the more simple and seemingly easy, but more truly un-
attainable graces, are not quite so likely to be appreciated at their just
value as the sounding extravagancies of the democratic harangue, or
the dull and wiredrawn wordiness of the metaphysics of the transcen-
dental school. We repeat that it is our desire to have it understood
that our extracts are fair specimens of the ordinary manner and style
of this illustrious man; and not more illustrative of his real style of
speaking, than of the admirable qualities of that mind, of which it was
the spontaneous and genuine product. He, too, like every orator,
rose into occasional flights of a more ambitious style; but these we
have not quoted; they will be met in many repositories, speeches, jour-
nals, biographical sketches, which few can fail to have read.
We have adverted to one criterion of excellence, which, as it depends
on the entire perusal of these trials, can be here only referred to. If
any one, not professionally acquainted with the law, shall take the
trouble of such a task, he will find sufficient difficulty in the arguments
of the counsel for the defence, to impress him with some sense of their
being more deep and more complex than they really are: when, on the
other hand, he comes to read the reply, he is at first seized with a
premature notion of less depth and logical power, while he is astonished
at the masterly language, and the simple truth and justice of the
views. It is not until he has given a second thought, and perhaps
looked back, that he apprehends a truth which we suspect has been
greatly overlooked, that the difficulty has been fully gauged by this
seeming simplicity, and that the depths have been illumined by a
light which has dispelled their obscurity. Difficulties framed out
of seemingly massive and ponderous materials, brought together at
the cost of much erudition, and impenetrably linked and platted by
the utmost expertness, are not merely encountered by a far simpler
method, but radically and in principle exposed by statements which
only seem less profound because they have removed the fallacy.
The distinguished efforts of great advocates, or of profound lawyers,
do not in general admit even of the species of extract and criticism
to which we have found it necessary to have recourse. To understand
the merit of the passage, or of the reasoning, it must, in general, be
necessary to have some clear previous ideas of the case argued, and
even of the several arguments which are the subject of reply; and
to unprofessional readers, it is not in every case that this informa-
tion can be given within any convenient compass. We shall avoid
inconvenient repetition, by postponing another great cause, in which
the Solicitor earned high distinction, until the next memoir, in
which we shall offer some notice of the " King v. Waller O'Grady."
We cannot now enter upon the details of the case of lord Trimb-
lestown, in which his statement was one of most consummate
skill and power, displaying indeed all the various resources of his
mind in a most eminent degree. To give due effect to his state-
ments in that celebrated cause, we should have to detail particulars,
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSIIE. 307
which might by possibility touch the character and affect the feelings
of living persons, and which should only appear under the sanction
of the essential proceedings of justice. For any other place than a
court of justice, the remarks which we should have to extract, would
be far too keen and pointed, though, we must add, amply earned by
those on whose conduct they fell. On that occasion, the Solicitor's wit,
address, judgment, and that profound knowledge of mankind which is
the advocate's chart and compass in the solution of the covert and
tortuous ways of fraud and secret guilt, are admirably exemplified;
and we would recommend the trial, and above all, the speech, to those
whose ambition it is to rise in the same department of professional
life. Independent of the merits of the pleaders — and this praise is
not to be confined to one — the case might be a text-book for the broad
and clear insight it affords of the workings of human nature, most
likely to come in some shape before a jury; and this, with Bushe and
Burton for commentators, is no slight acquisition to the lawyer, the
tragedian, the novelist, the poet, or the philosopher. It would, how-
ever, be some injustice to omit this opportunity to introduce the re-
marks of lord Brougham, for which this great cause gave the occa-
sion— " But his merit as a speaker was of the highest description.
His power of narration has not, perhaps, been equalled. If any one
would see this in the greatest perfection, he has only to read the
inimitable speech in the Trimbleston cause: the narrative of Livy
himself does not surpass that great effort. Perfect simplicity, but
united with elegance — a lucid arrangement, and unbroken connection
of all the facts — the constant introduction of the most picturesque
expressions, but never as ornaments — these, the great qualities of
narration, accomplish its great end and purpose — they place the story
and the scene before the hearer, or the reader, as if he witnessed the
reality. It is unnecessary to add, that the temperate and chaste, and
even the subdued tone of the whole, is unvaried and unbroken; but
such praise belongs to every part of this great speaker's oratory."*
The space to which this memoir must needs be confined, does not
permit of a more extended view of the merits of our illustrious sub-
ject as an orator, still less to enter at large on the consideration of his
pretensions as a lawyer. In this respect, we are persuaded that his
just claims were much interfered with by the fame of his wit and
eloquence. With whatever degree of truth, popular opinion seems to
have imagined an opposition between the dry and laborious learning
of the black letter sage, and the brilliant and dazzling accomplish-
ments of the advocate. As an advocate, Bushe has seldom been equal-
led; and we cannot admit that he has ever, in modern times, been ex-
celled. Farther, we are prepared to contend, that it is fully ascer-
tainable from his bar speeches, that he was in no way wanting in any of
the intellectual powers essential to the graver and deeper departments
of his profession. If in this respect he was below such men as Saurin,
it was simply in learning, the result of study ; but as to the profound
capacity for acquirement, no one who will attentively peruse his mas-
terly answer to the admirable argument of Mr Burton, in the Court
* Historical Sketches, &c., by Lord Brougham.
POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
of Error, on the O'Grady case, will entertain the slightest doubt of
the first-rate rank of his legal capacity. And it is very much to be
observed to what an extraordinary extent his profound native sagacity
enables him to apprehend results, which seem to have in some mea-
sure lain beyond the scope of his own research. His fine perception
of the point at which a dexterous or an unwary fallacy lies concealed
in an adverse statement, is often to be observed, as well as the singular
promptness which appears always ready to seize a hint, or to make
the most of an inadvertence. He did not himself pretend to rank in
the highest class of legal attainment; his taste and his understanding
sought a scope far too broad for the demands of the most laborious and
deep, yet not most comprehensive of sciences. His attainments as a
mere lawyer, were far above the level of second-rate men ; but with
this, he was a poet, a wit, an historian, a philosopher, theologian, and
first-rate scholar. A man, if the number as well as the excel-
lence of his attainments and gifts be considered, whose equal is not
likely soon to be found in the history of the bar of either country.
On the incidents of the remaining portion of his life, which comes
more directly under the range of recent and living observation, we
must be comparatively brief. In the interval between his appoint-
ment to the rank of Solicitor-general and his promotion to the bench,
we shall only here dwell upon one very important incident — his acqui-
sition of the seat and demesne of Kilmurry, which his father had been
compelled to alienate. When he had attained professional indepen-
dence, and his bar successes had completely relieved him from the anxie-
ties attendant on the res angusta domi, and the pressure of a large and
increasing family, his first care was to secure the comforts of his mother,
whose provision was not commensurate with his wishes or her deserts.
The next, was the redemption of the place of his birth and earliest re-
collections. Kilmurry had passed into the hands of Doctor Hoskyns,*
and was on the point of suffering some considerable dismemberment
of its old and beautiful timber, when it happened that the Solicitor
paid a visit to the neighbouring mansion of Kilfane. He had long
meditated the purchase of his paternal seat, but would willingly have
deferred this purpose for some time. The irreparable loss of the fine
old trees, was, however, he strongly felt, to be prevented at any in-
convenience, and he at once made his proposals, and became master of
the place for which he had long cherished a deep sentiment. Here
his vacations were spent for many years of that calm prosperity which,
when earned by a life of previous trial and industry, and set off by
the enlightened and tasteful enjoyments of the most cultivated minds,
is so delightful to the contemplation; and never, in any instance
within our memory or reading, was human life more exalted and
adorned by such accessories. Kilmurry is situated within about a
mile of Thomastown, in the county of Kilkenny. The house is situ-
ated to great advantage with respect to the general disposition of the
neighbouring scenery: the hills at its rear, the more gently undulating
open country in front, and the varied improvements which lie frequent
around. Immediately before the front there extends a very richly
* Brother to Sir Hungerford Hoskyns, Baronet of Harewood in Herefordshire.
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 309
planted lawn, of which the trees are unusually noticeable for their
massive proportions, their picturesque forms, and luxuriant foliage,
attributable to the depth and richness of the soil, as appears to be
indicated by the similar exuberance of the grass, flowers, and minor
vegetation. Through the clear openings among the trees, the gleams
of a bright little lake (for " pond " does not convey the effect,
though descriptive of the fact) appears. Several gravelled walks run
through the trees, so as to disclose from different points of view the
happiest combinations of wood and park, or let in glimpses of the hills
rising on the rear. A pleasing accompaniment of flower and shrub-
bery, gives rich effect and filling up along these walks. This lawn
and surrounding pleasure grounds, run into the more spacious park
adjoining to the north and northwest, and terminated by the woods of
Kilfane. In the rear of the house lies the farm, with its various ad-
juncts, terminated by the first gentle acclivity of the screen of hea-
thery hills to the north-east, which are the boundary of the mountain
and lowland regions of the country. The place, thus embellished by
nature and art, in its richness, freshness, and calm secluded expression,
conveying rather the idea of some bright and fair Tuscan villa
of the Medici, than a mansion of the sporting county of Kilkenny,
was (it is needless to say) to its owner enriched by many affect-
ing associations. The Solicitor was equally blest in his friendly
neighbours, in his tranquil and beautiful retreat, and in his own
home circle. Of his neighbours at Kilfane, we have already said
a little. One gravelled walk ran the whole way from the door of
Kilmurry to that of Kilfane — the two demesnes being separated by
a hedge and lofty screen of trees, through which a narrow gate ad-
mitted the inmates of either. The intercourse thus favoured, was
almost domestic; and as the families were near connexions, so they
were attached friends. The late Sir John Power was a man dignified
by all the virtues that are known to soften and elevate humanity —
hospitable, generous, affectionate, and sincere, he was as much loved
for his goodness, as he was respected for the quiet and unassuming
good sense, and the steady integrity which deserved and won universal
confidence. Of his excellent lady, we cannot here speak, as it is no
part of our province to celebrate the living; but we may say, that she
combined in herself the lineage of Grattan and Bushe, and did no
dishonour to either. Of the inner circle of Kilmurry, which consti-
tuted the pride and happiness of its illustrious master, we can only say,
in general terms, that more talent and more goodness never came to-
gether in one home. We cannot venture on the separate notice of
individuals, partly for reasons already given, and still more, because
we frankly confess that our own long-cherished feelings of respect
and affection, would place it beyond our power to be impartial.
With such a constitution of domestic society, it will naturally be
understood how so much taste, talent, and goodness, must have operated
to shed their attractions, and to impart refinement and the light of in-
tellect within the circle. There was no affectation of knowledge or
wit, where all were instructed and talented; there was no frivolous
love of pleasure, where all had happier tastes ; no dull and slanderous
gossip, where all had better thoughts, and more humane feelings:
310 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
nor was there any cold and formal constraint, where love and a happy
nature governed the mind. The pure and enlightening influence of
true Christianity were not wanting, to harmonize and give that ster-
ling stamp of peace and charity, which is not in the spirit of the
world.
With such a happy constitution of his home society, the Solicitor
was no less disposed to enjoy and promote its happy influences. His
hours were given to a succession of occupations and amusements, well
suited to his taste and character. A portion of his mornings was
devoted to professional avocations, to which he retired immediately
after family prayers — his walk or ride followed — and, if some engage-
ment did not interfere, there was some new work, or some pursuit of
literature, as his taste might dictate, to fill up the less active portion
of his day. At dinner, his family met, with the frequent addition of
some friend or relation ; he was not a lover of the splendours and for-
malities of large entertainments, but few men could be more alive to
the enjoyment of that refined interchange of mind which belongs to a
small and cultivated circle alone. There was, however, no company
so dull that his prompt intelligence and happy wit could not enliven;
nor could any topic, however commonplace, be introduced, to which he
could not give an interest, for his sound common sense was as ready
as his brilliant fancy. One quality was very observable in his entire
conversation and demeanour — it was the utter absence of assumption;
there was nothing in his manner to remind the dullest of his guests
that he was conversing with a mind that towered far above his own —
he did not himself recollect this disparity, but freely placed himself
on a level with his company. If he was misunderstood, he showed
no irritation — if any one fell into an absurdity, he was prompt to
shelter him with a friendly play of wit — if contradicted, he listened
with docility — he never attempted to put any one down — and never
allowed uncharitable comments to pass without rebuke.
Such is a faint and imperfect sketch of the man in his own private
circle. In the interval which intervened between the last-mentioned
events, and his last promotion to the bench, two of his daughters had
been married ; the eldest to Sir Josiah Coghill, who, having taken a place
at Ballyduff, within about three miles of Kilmurry, thus afforded a
happy addition to the family circle; the second, to Charles Michael
Fox, son of Judge Fox — a young barrister who, before his deeply de-
plored death, had already made good his way to the professional dis-
tinction which he was not allowed to grasp. Four younger daughters,
and four sons, completed the circle.
We must now, without further delay, pass over an interval of life,
which affords few events which demand notice in a sketch intended to
be brief, and which is already outgoing its due proportion.
In the year 1822, an important change took place.
From this period it will, in this memoir, be needless to pursue into
minute detail the history of a course which must be regarded as hav-
ing reached its level upon the summit of professional attainment.
The elevation of the Solicitor-general to the vacant station of chief
judge in the King's Bench, may be here regarded as a necessary con-
sequence of the refusal of that high office by the Attorney-general, in
CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 311
whose memoir we shall state the circumstances. If any act could
have atoned for the very unhandsome treatment which, for party pur-
poses, the government then observed towards a truly great man, never,
perhaps, excelled for legal learning or ability, it would be the appoint-
ment of Bushe to that station, for which, however one might compara-
tively estimate his legal acquirements, he was most singularly quali-
fied by the admirable adaptation of a mind pre-eminently judicial in
all its faculties and tendencies. With a love of justice which almost
amounted to a passion — and was in him what party feeling is in
others-^— he possessed an intuitive grasp of all its elements, conditions,
and principles, so firm and complete, that, in the same way in which
a clear intellect will sometimes seize a meaning when grammatical
pedantry is perplexed by an imperfect context, he was sure to light,
by the intuition of a legal mind, on an application, a rule, or the inter-
pretation of authority, where it lay seemingly concealed amid a multi-
tude of imperfect cases, vague statements, and the obscurity which
time has shed over the origin of rules derivable from usage and the
common law. Whatever we must suppose to have been his actual
possession of black-letter erudition, whether he could command at a
moment the whole broad and profound scope of our legal history, one
thing is uniformly to be verified in all his practice — his entire and per-
fect knowledge of the science of his profession; and, in consequence,
his uniform promptness in rightly grasping the true intent and applica-
tion of precedents and authorities, and detecting the fallacies to which
the advocate is so often compelled to have recourse for his purpose.
Now, of the casts of mind here distinguished, however great legal
learning, or the sophistical dexterity which can apply it to either side
of a cause, may best suit the character of a pleader at the bar, it would be
easy to show (if denied) that the rare qualities ascribed to Bushe, were
eminently those most suited to the King's Bench. Before we offer our
brief exposition of this, let us guard against a misconstruction of our
intent. We cannot justly be assumed to mean an apology for any defi-
ciency in that knowledge which belongs indispensably to bench and bar,
and to supply the want of which, the utmost reach of mere intellect
would be utterly absurd. All this is presupposed in these remarks. Our
meaning is simply this, that, admitting that there were and are law-
yers and judges considerably more versed in the learning of their pro-
fession than Chief-justice Bushe, he was placed far above the ordinary
level of judicial qualifications, by a combination of moral and intel-
lectual lights, such as no bar learning ever gave or could give. And
there is one plain reason among the many we could offer. To clear
our own meaning from all ambiguity, let us assume all the law know-
ledge uniformly essential to bar or bench, and without which, indeed,
the arguments of counsel could not be intelligently followed; and then
let it be recollected what is the actual course of a cause involving more
than average difficulty: the whole range of applicable or seemingly
applicable precedents, rules, commentaries, judicial dicta, and infer-
ences from modes of proceeding, are at great length, with tedious mi-
nuteness and expertuess, only to be found among lawyers, threshed,
turned on every side, sifted and resifted, explained in every possible
way, and tested by every conceivable criterion, until the most igno-
312 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
rant listener is possessed of the whole substance, and of ail the modes of
treating it; while it is yet not unlikely that the most expert lawyer may
go astray in the attempt to sift the grain of truth from the mass of
intricate entanglement which legal ingenuity may have spun around
it. To fix our ideas, suppose the great cause of the king and O'Gra-
dy, pursued through all the profound sinuosities of professional skill in
two successive hearings, in which the theory of the common law, of
usage, and of prescriptive right, are exhausted in eight arguments of
first-rate ability; in which the statute of Westminster — the commentary
of Coke — the cases of Mitton, Bridgman and Holt, Harcourt and Fox,
and many others of more doubtful application, are turned inside out,
till nothing that reason or sophistry can say, is left unsaid. And,
omitting for the present the lucid and demonstrative exposition with
which Mr Saurin terminated the last hearing in error, let us see
what qualities were mainly available for the purpose of adjudication
in such a cause. Not surely the same range of erudition, which we
may presume to have been anticipated; not the dexterity which,
however it may weave fallacies, is not the surest instrument of truth ;
but the power of sound comparison and just distinction; the mastery
of principle with the unerring intuition which uniformly refers to it ;
the instinctive aversion to fallacy, which feels and throws off its
slightest taint; these, supposing competent professional practice, and
that science on which alone they are to be (in legal questions) em-
ployed, are the qualifications of the judge in contradistinction of those
of the barrister. Now, such were peculiarly the distinguishing attri-
butes of the Chief-justice Bushe. Having sustained a high legal repu-
tation, fully equal to the demands of practice, among such men as
Saurin, Plunket, Burrowes, Burton, &c., he came to the judicial office
with the addition of qualifications, not in a very high degree requir-
ed in the advocate's part, but standing highest among those which
have ever been the proudest boast of the seat of justice — the moral
and intellectual purity and integrity, which are its proverbial attri-
butes, having their outward symbol and cognizance in the stainless
ermine. We have dwelt somewhat elaborately on these distinctions,
because of a common error which some persons have been led into,
from the natural disposition of the human mind to run into extreme
notions. As a great advocate, it was not unusual to consider Bushe in
contrast with great legal authorities; and hence, among those who really
had no correct ideas of either, it was often insinuated that he was by
no means to be regarded as a lawyer, but simply as an orator. The
fallacy of this we have therefore endeavoured to explain: whatever
the actual fact may have been, the estimate was founded upon error.
We are not, indeed, under the impression that his law reading was
very extensive or profound ; and more, we do not believe (considering
all circumstances, his tastes, his habits, and general information,) that
it could well have been so. Law, like any other complex and diffi-
cult science, is the business of a life ; but we repel the false inference
that he was not competently qualified to meet and grapple with all
the practical exigencies of his profession, and this on the sure ground
of his distinguished efforts in the most difficult and complicated ques-
tions which occurred in his time. In these, the part he took was not
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 313
held second to the exertions of the eminent lawyers by whom he was
opposed ; nor, had it been so, could he have risen to the place of prac-
tice he held. It is to be remembered that it was not by appeals to
the passions of juries in criminal cases, in which a little poetic prose,
and a flow of rhetorical bombast, has often been found the surest
weapon, that he rose ; it was not indeed by the legal mastery of Saurin
or Sugden ; and yet it was by the power and intellectual mastery of a
first-rate legal understanding, clear, logical, acute, and scrupulous,
guided by an innate sense of principle, and governed by the love of
right. By this constitution of mind, an extensive practical acquaint-
ance with law was further extended, so that to a mind like his, the
slightest suggestion often presented all that could be attained by the
laborious groping of men of less power, though deeper study.
With whatever law learning he came to the bench, he soon vastly
increased it, and his judgments are remarkable for that correctness,
clearness, brevity, and elementary truth, which belong to the master
only, in any walk of science.
From the period of his elevation to the bench, the life of the Chief-
justice ran for several years smoothly in the calm alternations of his
official duty, and the relaxation permitted by the summer vacation
was passed in the tranquil yet happily social retreat of Kilmurry.
Here, his best thoughts dwelt while away, and when he returned, it
was easy to see that the cares of public life were left without the
gate. With all his wit and sound worldly sense, he possessed, more
than any one we can recollect, the buoyant and fresh simplicity of a
child. There was in his conversation and manner, among those he
loved, a na'ive yet sparkling folatrie, which was infinitely engaging,
but was not shown among any but his most familiar friends ; indeed,
his natural temper was very remarkably inclined to a playful and easy
gaiety ; and the grave formalism, which some strangers have mistaken
for art, might not ill be interpreted into something of the same
kind with the story (we think) of Henry IV. of France, when he was
engaged in some trifling sport, and perceiving the approach of some
court coxcomb, he turned to his companions and said, " my friends,
we must be wise, a fool is coming." Possessing in himself, and
in the bosom of his domestic circle, all that society can give, and
more than it ordinarily gives, to exercise the mind and the affec-
tions, he did not look with much interest beyond it. Of no party
in politics, and strongly convinced that a judge should stand aloof
from all party, his reading and conversation were directed to gene-
ral literature, and he indulged his mind with the most reputed
writers of the age. Among these, it is needless to say, Sir Walter
Scott held the first place — a place indeed beyond the scope of com-
parison, until we go back to Shakespeare, in whose page the Chief-
justice was a scholar in the highest sense, adding a perfect command
to a perfect understanding. He was an admirer of Miss Edgeworth
also, who stood high in his list of authors; but indeed he read all with
rather a frank estimation of whatever was good in them, than with a
fastidious discrimination of faults. This was by no means the turn
of his genius. Severe in his notions of excellence, when referred to
the canons of strict principle, he was yet indulgent in his judgments,
314 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
and judged books or men much more by their merits than by their de-
fects. His satire, the result of wit and nice discernment, never came
from the heart, the common source of satire in others ; and hence,
though it often conveyed a lesson, it never inflicted a wound. He
was fond of entering upon those philosophical questions which have
always been pressing themselves on reflecting men, and which are
occasionally most delightful for the exercise they give to the activity
of the speculative faculties, rarely exerted in the common affairs of
life, or by those who are engaged in them. His conversation had in-
deed the happiest adaptation to his company; and though there was
no topic so humble that he could not enter upon it with unaffected
simplicity, and adorn it with good sense and felicitous comment, grave
or gay, yet he never appeared to higher advantage than when he was
led into some discussion of a favourite author with some qualified
companion; for in mixed circles, he rather discountenanced such dis-
cussions, as not having the same uniform interest for all.
Among the amusements of his hours of relaxation, he occasionally
indulged in composition, in which his facility was very considerable.
His topics were, however, ordinarily selected among the passing
occurrences of the day, and mostly directed to his own circle. With
a high capacity for literature, it has indeed been often made matter
of question, why he never in his later years wrote for publication.
To understand the reason, it was necessary to know him well. A
very generally remarked disposition to please, the result of a rare
kindliness of temper, was very commonly referred by strangers to
something ambitious in his character. It is, however, a curious fact,
ascertained by very close and long observation, that, in the ordinary
form of this disposition, he was very unusually free from ambition.
He was not proud — he had no grasping desire for station — popularity
he spurned — and no praise could satisfy him, of which he did not
thoroughly feel the perfect justice; but he loved the reciprocity of
kindly affections, he enjoyed the happiness of others, and took plea-
sure in touching the chords of the breast, and awakening the powers
of the intellect. This disposition, like every active impulse connected
with the social affections, naturally communicated itself to his counte-
nance and manner, and entering into combination with other charac-
teristic habits, gave a winning and persuasive grace to his look and
action, which, while it was quite unconscious, was thought by strangers,
and by those who could not feel its genuine character, to be art, and
the immediate result of design — a mistake indeed so absurd, that we
should not have noticed it here, had it not been in some measure per-
petuated in the works of a very clever and even friendly writer. If we
must admit the fact that the Chief-justice had been, in his bar practice,
what Mr Kemble with much justice observed, "the most consummate
actor off the stage," yet the rash and hasty assertion of some of his ad-
mirers will not follow. A man's nature, it may be admitted, to a great
extent will regulate and afford the foundation of his art — the taste
and feeling which may impart a graceful manner to a graceful per-
son or expressive countenance, in the most unconscious movements of
private society, cannot fail to be of much avail on those occasions
when all the resources of art are absolutely sought for an understood
PEHIOI).] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 315
purpose; and again, by the natural reaction of habit, the study of the
advocate must needs throw some characteristic influence over the gene-
ral deportment. But it seems unfair, on such slight grounds, for a
stranger to generalize such obvious and natural incidents into the im-
putation of a habit, which js indeed so wholly repugnant to the real
character and temper of this eminent judge's mind as affectation, for,
however qualified, such is the sense of the remark. We do not here
bring forward the writer whose language we have excepted against,
because we are inclined to believe that he would not have carried his
charge so far as the imputation we have endeavoured to repel, but
such is the actual impression which he does convey, and it is a false
impression, as applied to one of the gravest, sincerest, and most single
dispositions ever known in combination with such an intellect.
We have been led into this (not needless) digression by the remarks
we had purposed making on the literary amusements of Chief-justice
Bushe, because it is impossible to recal them to mind without also
recollecting the remarkable modesty and humility of this illustrious
man. In the many years during which we had the honour of much
intimate and domestic intercourse with him, and of every opportunity
for close observation in a circle in which his talents were fully appre-
ciated by all, we cannot recollect an instance of vain display, or even
a momentary indication of having set an undue value on any of his
compositions. He was certainly very much alive to the approbation
and esteem of those he loved and respected ; but he was as obviously
indifferent to the praises which are generally so acceptable to great-
ness. He rather undervalued his own productions, and was easily
offended by what he considered as flattery; insomuch, that this spe-
cies of homage often met an ungracious reception. But in point of
fact, these productions were always the unstudied result of the call of
the hour, or of the impulse it awakened, and would be thought of no
more, if not revived by the natural zeal and affection of those who
surrounded him. Perhaps of many of them it may justly be said,
that they were too careless and unstudied to satisfy his own taste, or
the revision of the critical judgment. This, however, is immaterial, as
they always evinced those talents and that cultivation which, had he so
desired, would easily have secured him a high station in the republic
of letters; and of this, it is to be presumed, he could himself have no
doubt — certainly no one else had. Now, if the reader will consider,
how public men, statesmen, judges, lawyers, and members of all pro-
fessions, with less than half his known powers, have struggled to ob-
tain notoriety for the productions of their leisure, it will be easier to
comprehend the indifference of a man with the talents and the readi-
ness of Bushe, throwing off compositions of every kind for his own
relaxation, and casting them aside without a thought. One of the
most certain, and most amiable signs of true modesty, is the aptness
to approve and take delight in others; and this was among the most
signal qualities of the Chief-justice. His mind, never engrossed in
self-contemplation, was quick to feel the pleasures and the successes of
his friends; and we have frequently been surprised at his keen discern-
ment of what was good in the productions of others, where we should
have seen little indeed to praise.
316 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
Among the poetic pieces which have been preserved by the care of
friends, the best are those of which the character is playful. He was
not possessed of much imagination, (we adopt the common phrase in
its common acceptation,) but in amends, he was master of a boundless
fancy. In the direct expression of the more grave emotions, he was
true and fervent, but too direct and literal to look for poetic effects —
his temper was too earnest to sport and dally with passion ; but in the
genial moods of social excitement, and in the light, evanescent, and
brilliant gleams of satire, sentiment, and characteristic circumstance,
which in the most polished society may be said to play along the cur-
rent of the hour, in these, his wit and fancy could revel in peerless
abundance. That keen and luminous flash which seldom was wanting
in his conversation, was also as free and bright, though not quite so
undesigned, in his fugitive verses.
Of a more important and graver character, were some of his com-
positions in prose. In these, too, it is to be observed, that the same
general impulses — that is to say, the whim of the hour, or the want
of relaxation which sometimes gains possession of the studious — mostly
gave the occasion and produced similar results ; compositions in which
a playful vein of satire was used to create amusement in the home
circle, and be thrown aside. But it has also occurred, that his mind has
been roused into more serious and strenuous exertion by more impor-
tant occasions. Among the more serious performances of this charac-
ter, it will be enough here to particularize one which, owing to circum-
stances, is now in the hands of the public. There was no topic which
seems to have been regarded by him with so much interest as the main
doctrines and the evidences of revealed religion. It was the peculiar cast
of his mind to be very deeply impressed by the results of his reason in
all concerns, but most in those of which he recognised the practical
importance. Having once concluded on the truth of the gospel, he
implicitly followed it out into its consequences ; and, contrary to the
ordinary bent of the world, the strong sense of its importance, and
urgent claim as a reality, took possession of his uncompromising and
unsophisticated understanding. The shallow and sophistical dexterity,
which so frequently appears in resistance to so plain and clear a light,
moved his indignation at all times; but when it showed itself among
those whom he cared for, it grieved him deeply. He felt it as an
affliction far more serious than any temporal calamity or social shame.
This being considered, it will be felt that when a direct application for
information on the subject happened to come from a person in whose
welfare he took interest, the call was responded to with alacrity. It was
on such an occasion he took his pen to answer a question as to the
best course of reading for the purpose of a fair investigation of the full
evidence of Christianity. To draw up a full notice of the best authors,
and of their several arguments, was to him no task. He executed it
with ease, precision, fulness, yet with a lucid brevity; connecting the
able writers, so as to compose together one great argument, followed
out through all its parts, like the summary of a judicial address, which
brings together the arguments of the counsel on some great question.
Such is the general intent and character of this masterly essay, of
which, as it has been given to the public by the editor of this work, and
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 317
writer of these pages, we cannot properly say more in this place.
It should, however, be added, that it was not composed with the
remotest view to publication, this having been wholly the act of the
editor. Of the circumstances, and of his own motives, he has given
a sufficient account in his introduction to that publication.
It is worthy of curious observation, that the peculiar character of
intellect exemplified in that essay, is in a very remarkable manner in-
dicated in his judgments. In these,* so far as we have been enabled
to form an opinion, there is great force and clearness of statement,
derived from a very admirable quality which was in a remarkable de-
gree characteristic of the Chief-justice — we mean the faculty of
orderly arrangement, — than which there is perhaps no intellectual
gift so indicative of that high constitution of mind to which the term
wisdom can so properly be applied, for it immediately depends on a
lively apprehension of the real relations of things, and their true points
of connection, and comparative place and value. This indeed is nearly
a necessary consequence: these perceptions are themselves the very first
conditions of orderly arrangement ; they are also, it will be allowed,
those of 'just judgment. Hence the admirable statements which will
be found in most of his judgments, by which, after a long hearing of
counsel, the principle is made apparent often in a lucid sentence, in
which the argument, stripped of its complication, and of the dexterous
misstatement or heavy circuity of the advocates, seems to fall into
some brief form, clear, precise, and logical. It will indeed be found
not a little illustrative of these remarks, to observe how often his
arguments assume those ultimate forms in which the science of logic
absolutely consists — forms which, in general, the soundest judgment
alone can venture expressly to approach, from their simplicity and
elementary nature; and as we have taken some pains to trace this
characteristic of Chief-justice Bushe, we may also avail ourselves of
it to explain its effect in his general style, and in some points of his
character. The same clear order which is so conspicuous in his
statements, is equally to be traced in the entire texture of his language,
— thus indeed indicating its origin to be rather in his nature, than a
result of mere skill; for nature only is consistent in parts as in the
whole. In his statements, the parts of the argument, the sentences, and
the very words of which they are framed, manifest a pervading and pre-
valent adaptation and arrangement, which no study could attain. The
result indeed of mere skill would be rather different; for no skill can
supply this intellectual acumen ; and an elaborate grammatic pedantry,
most remote indeed from his style, would be the result. Concurrently
with the orderly harmony of style and method we describe, there was
easily perceptible an unostentatious indifference about terms, which
would be manifestly inconsistent with extreme studiousness of language.
His method was an order of adaptation on a large and free scale,
regardless of unessential minutiae, and resulting from clear and com-
prehensive conceptions and apprehensions.
These reflections very appropriately lead to some notice of one of
the few incidents which occurred to vary the even course of the life
* Fox and Smith's Reports, and Batty's Reports.
318 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
of a chief judge, and which will afford some more authoritative illus-
tration of these views. In 1839> he was summoned to give evidence
before a committee of parliament. He thus came under the sagacious
observation of lord Brougham, from whom we shall here extract seve-
ral observations, in the sense and feeling of which we fully concur.
Speaking of the occasion, this eminent critic observes: — "No one
who heard the very remarkable examination of Chief-justice Bushe,
could avoid forming the most exalted estimate of his judicial talents.
Many of the questions to which he necessarily addressed himself
were involved in party controversy, exciting on one side and the
other great heats. Throughout, never was a more calm or fair tone
than that which he took and preserved. Some of the points were of
great nicety; but the discrimination with which he handled them was
such as seemed to remove all difficulty, and dispel whatever obscurity
clouded the subject. The choice of his words was most felicitous.
It always seemed as if the form of expression was selected, which was
the most peculiarly adapted to convey the meaning with perfect sim-
plicity, and without the least matter of exaggeration or softening.
The manner of giving each sentence, too, betokened an anxiety to giv6
the very truth ; and the slowness oftentimes showed that each word
was cautiously weig-hed. There was shed over the whole the grace
of a delivery singular for its combined suavity and dignity. All that
one had heard of the wonderful fascination of his manner, both at the
bar and upon the bench, became easily credible to those who heard
his evidence."
With this expressive portraiture, which, we submit, confirms our
more analytic view of the Chief -justice's character as a judicial
speaker, we might conclude this part of our task. But it is yet in-
complete without a few remarks which truth cannot omit, and which
have indeed a more general and instructive relation to the subject.
To some of our readers it may be familiarly known how the an-
cient rhetoricians, in enumerating the elements of eloquence, gene-
rally reckoned goodness among the number. According to Quinti-
lian, the orator must be a person qui esse nisi vir bonus non potest ;
ideoque non dicendi modo eximiam in eo facultatem, sed omnes animi
virtutes exigimus. But we doubt that the ancient writers apprehended
in its fullest extent the value and the entire application of this prin-
ciple; and it is mostly so stated in their writings, as to convey little
evidence, sometimes even little meaning, to the student. The rule is
additionally concealed by the tortuous uses of party, of advocacy, and of
controversy ; for in fact oratory has many uses besides that which gene-
rally seems to be assumed by rhetorical theory — the maintenance of
truth and right; though this is its ostensible purpose and its noblest.
Though, therefore, we cannot subscribe to the dicta of the Greek and
Latin schools, we may here fairly consider what the orator may derive
from these qualities.
For this purpose it may be observed, that even deception is an imi-
tation of truth and virtue ; and that the most dishonest reasoning can
be only effective by some semblance of just inference from true fact
or principle. If any one will take the trouble fully to comprehend
this — for we cannot afford lengthened proofs — he will perceive the
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 319
consequence, that in proportion as the sense of right and wrong- be-
comes confused, the power even of successful sophistry must diminish,
until the mind, habituated only to crooked thinking, begins to think
awry without being aware of it — one of the ways in which knaves
often betray themselves. This is the extreme case; the same is true
in all degrees. Perverted principles necessarily generate not only
fallacies, but fallacious methods of seeing and thinking, by which alone
fallacy can be entertained. Hence, on the other hand, but resulting
from similar reasoning, just thinking is to the same extent grounded
on goodness and sincerity, so as to rise from them as a spontaneous
produce; and the habit of truth pervades alike the whole exercise of
the whole mind. Hence the ease, simplicity, and force, as well as
readiness, of the true wisdom founded on virtue. It is in this sense
that the beautiful language of the poet is strictly true.
Virtue can see to do what virtue would
By her own lovely light, though sun and stars
Were in the flat sea sunk —
For it is evil which perverts the whole mind, and with wrong motives,
and the maintenance of false interests, corrupts the intellectual eye:
" Jf thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness."
Now, these reflections offer the true solution of much of the wisdom
and much of the eloquence of Chief-justice Bushe. To those who knew
him intimately, it is well known with what an earnest love he adhered to
the principles of truth and justice. Respected in different degrees by
all who have any respect for themselves, these principles had in his
mind the force of a religion, and not only gave to his character its
real power and dignity, but even its very infirmities. Without the
fullest allowance for it, he could not but be mistaken in everything;
and thus, by the way, it was, that no man was so often mistaken
by superficial observers. We cannot, without becoming prolix, follow
this exposition into numerous applications, but for the present must
be content to point out some of them, in which he has been unjustly
dealt with by strangers. From the exceeding refinement of his sense
of the principles here referred to, arose a strong sentiment of scrupu-
lous regard to the claims of others, not only in the ordinary concerns
in which law and worldly opinion have fixed them, but in those less
defined matters of form, manner, and mutual deportment, in which so
little can be explicitly adjusted by any rules but those prescribed by
right feeling, and the comprehensive rule of charity. In the mind of
Chief-justice Bushe, there was, by his very nature, a fine sense of this
principle. Many are, we grant, largely endowed with the same; but
in him it received an exquisite vitality, from the equally delicate tact
with which it was accompanied. He entered with a rapid apprehen-
sion into the consciousness and the existing position of whoever he
conversed with ; and thus was always under a ready and governing
apprehension of the full force of the great law of just reciprocity,
" Do unto others, as ye would that others should do unto you," even
on occasions which scarcely meet the apprehension of coarser minds.
Hence a peculiar graciousness of manner to persons of inferior rank —
a condescension of deportment, and a ready wish to set them at ease
320 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
— an obliging desire to communicate satisfaction — all of which have
often been mistaken, and made the subject of coarse and ignorant
comment, by persons who only judged rightly if they felt that they
were not fitting objects of so much consideration. But the same
temper was otherwise influential in modifications which, from the
specimen just explained, the reader will judge that we cannot afford
to do more than mention. Hence the stern indignation easily drawn
forth by petty oversights of principle; hence the nice balance in
which scruples of honour and integrity were weighed. By those
who were among his domestic friends, or by the members of his pro-
fession, all this was more or less understood; his character could not
be mistaken by the superior order of actual observers. It was impos-
sible even for the most intimate to keep in view the strict, stern, and
exceedingly simple philosophy of his mind; it was so profusely adorn-
ed on the surface by the illumination of taste and fancy, and so embel-
lished with a play of allusion which came unsought, that it was not
easy to reconcile so much subtlety in wit with so much simplicity in
judgment.
Notwithstanding his pre-eminence as an advocate, we are in-
clined to think that the Chief-justice appeared to the highest ad-
vantage in the undress of the most familiar conversation, when un-
constrainedly following the topic most agreeable to his own taste. On
these happy occasions, a gentle enthusiasm, which was liable to be
repressed by the mere presence of those who could not participate
in the feeling of the moment, seldom failed to show itself, and his
heart seemed to awaken and take its part in the play of mind and
memory. We can well recollect the animated spirit with which
he entered one evening on the discussion of selected passages in Milton
and Shakespeare — touching with a depth of feeling on the master
strokes of their high art, or the elevation of the noble image or pro-
found conception, until at last an irrepressible sense of pleasure seemed
to force from him an exclamation, of which we cannot recollect the
precise language, on the charm of such free communication of mind.
It was an impulse such as Milton intends to convey in the passage in
Comus, where one of the brothers breaks into a similar interruption : —
How charming is divine philosophy,
Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose ;
But musical as is Apollo's lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets,
Where no crude surfeit reigns.
Such impulses were with him frequent; for there was a deep glow of
what we may be allowed to call a classical enthusiasm in his mind,
ever on the spring when all constraint was removed. He was indeed
easily restrained, not from the selfish anxiety which so often can
tongue-tie men of wit, but from a very intense sympathy with the
minds of his company. He was also eminently endowed with a fine
tact for the ridiculous : in this he was not wont to indulge ; but
he could not quite divest his mind of a sense of the absurdity of any
expression of sentiment where it could not be at once understood: he
would not talk poetry to an economist, or philosophy to a statistical
tourist. It may be received as illustrative of some statements already
CHARLES KEN DAL IJUSIIE. 321
made, when we mention, what we have uniformly observed, that it was
very much his habit to converse with persons who possessed any pecu-
liar information, rather on the topics best known to them, than on
those with which he was himself familiar; his motive being always
politeness — a sense of fairness; and one of the consequences was, that
he was sometimes much underrated by persons of the meanest intel-
lectual calibre. He possessed a large fund of anecdote — though he
was seldom heard to relate any of that class improperly known by the
name of bar stories. But he possessed a power of narrative, so grace-
ful, easy, and graphic, that it did not require anything of the ludi-
crous or the satirical to give it zest; and the less, as it always came
with a force of application that Was happy for its pertinence to the
occasion.
Among the most remarkable traits of his character, in the familiar
intercourse of private life, was the entire absence of pretension. So
far as deportment, manner, and all that depends on the will, he always
placed himself on a level with his company; divesting himself, so far
as he could, of his own superiority; rebuking no innocent error,
laughing at no absurdity; prompt to cover the retreat, or protect
from the sarcastic comment; and always, when it might be done, to
put the kindliest construction. To those who affected superior wit
or wisdom, he listened in silence; and it was only when their rashness
touched too nearly the outworks of religion, or any important princi-
ple, that he remonstrated or rebuked, as the case might require. To
those whose understanding he respected, he was ever ready to give
the most candid and intelligent attention ; and when any opinion of
his own happened to be questioned, he gave the most earnest atten-
tion, and the most frank assent if convinced. There was indeed about
his manner, on such occasions, a simple and childlike docility, especi-
ally when the subject involved any serious concern. This was on no
occasion so apparent as in the discussion of questions concerning the
doctrines or evidences of revealed religion. Deeply impressed with
the reality and the momentous importance of Christianity, it never
occurred to him that the awful interests of eternity presented a fit
theme for the display of ingenuity, learning, or comparative superi-
ority of one man's intellect above that of another. He felt the whole
truth of human ignorance and insignificance, compared writh the coun-
sels and the supreme dominion of God, and the slightest approach to
such subjects filled him with humility. We might, without transgress-
ing the limits of strict observation, add much to these statements ; but
we are sensible that wre have already encroached on the limits of mere
portraiture. On the subject of one who has been so much before the
public, and so often imperfectly represented, we have thought it neces-
sary to rectify some long current mistakes.
The life of a judge in this country, cannot offer much to diversify
a memoir. The incidents which claim special notice must needs be
few. The chief of them are not such as we should much desire to
dwell upon. Though the current of his latter years were in the main
as prosperous and as little troubled as falls to the lot of man, yet it
can rarely happen, at an advanced period of life, that twenty years can
pass without days of the severest trial. In the interval thus taken,
VOL. VI. X
322 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
the family of Kilmurry was visited with two heavy afflictions, in the
death of two individuals whom we should not feel called upon to allude
to here — not even on account of the personal claims of private regard
and affection — had these losses been only such as can be numbered
among the casualties to which every family is subject, and which, in
reality, are no more than the disturbance of each petty circle by the
ceaseless drift of life's general ebb. But the death of the Chief-justice's
son-in-law, Charles Michael Fox, was not an everyday occurrence.
Among his cotemporaries at the bar, there exists no doubt that, in a
few years, his high talents, combined with his professional industry, must
have raised him to the highest eminence. He was, in private society, of
a temper somewhat retiring, but capable of a quiet excitement, in which
a very singular clearness of head, a prompt astuteness, a caustic wit,
and a very remarkable command of brief and terse language, used
to become apparent. He had begun to obtain distinction at the
bar, had proved his power in law argument, and also obtained very
high praise for his share in a very able publication of law reports,
in connection with Mr Smith, since Attorney-general, when he was
taken from his afflicted family and from his country by the visitation of
divine providence. We may add, that he was no less qualified to die
than to live, as he was not merely a professing Christian, but a most
firm and convinced believer of the word of life, which it was, at the
time when we had the happiness to be among his friends, his earnest
study to enforce and teach. Another afflicting topic demands a few
words. The Chief-justice's fourth daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bushe,
was called away from her most attached circle in her twentieth year,
leaving no trace, but in the memory of those who loved her, of as
noble a spirit and powerful an intellect as ever adorned humanity.
To her with rare truth might be applied the beautiful reflection which
Mr Moore, with somewhat perhaps of the poet's license, applied to
another.
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
With modest murmur glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Beneath their gentle tide :
So, veiled beneath a simple guise,
Thy radiant genius shone ;
And that which charmed all Other eyes,
Seemed worthless in thine own !
No prosaic truth could be more soberly true than the application of
these lines to the loved and valued object of this brief commemoration.
With a head clear as the clearest and deepest fountain, and a breast
pure as the purest, full of the warmest affections, most thoroughly
unconscious of her own value, and endowed with a fine perception of
everything good in others, Miss E. Bushe did not live to be thoroughly
comprehended even among her friends. All felt her worth, her sim-
plicity, her frankness, and saw her Christian walk; but it was only
known to a few that she was gifted with an intellect of which we shall
now but say that it would be disparaged by most comparisons which
the scope of female biography affords.
During the latter years of the Chief-justice, he was known to en
CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 323
tertain a strong anxiety to retire from his laborious and responsible
station. A constitutional tendency to a violent defluxion on the
chest, began to harass him with its consequences. His physical
strength suffered a diminution, which seemed to menace the powers
of life, and which rendered his public duties exceedingly severe. The
skill of Sir P. Crampton freed him from this distressing enemy ; but
he was at the same time made aware, or at least impressed with a
conviction, that it was only for a limited interval. Five years appear
to have been assigned as a period likely to be free from the ailment
which had to a remarkable extent reduced his frame. His strength
and spirits were, however, as remarkably renovated by a severe re-
medial course, and he was enabled to resume his judicial functions
with renewed vigour and alacrity. He still, however, felt that it
would be desirable to retreat while he might do so with unimpaired
powers, and thus anticipate the changes which he could not fail to ex-
pect. In this desire he met with a degree of resistance from several
influential quarters. His brethren of the Queen's Bench were very
anxious that he should not retire, for reasons which were very fully
understood by the public, but which we shall not here mention, as we
are not willing to discuss them. It was also, we may add, the gene-
ral impression of the public, an impression received in the most in-
telligent circles, that his retirement was strongly deprecated by the
government. It is certain that it must have then had the effect of
placing ministers in a position of embarrassment — a consequence
which he would have regretted.
Thus impeded in a favourite wish, the Chief-justice resigned him-
self to his laborious avocations, and armed his mind with patience to
await the conjuncture favourable to his retirement. In the mean
time, he was in some degree engaged in the improvement of Kil-
murry. This step had been forced upon him at first by the discovery
that the roof and much of the house was in the last stage of decay.
It became essential to safety to begin the most immediate and exten-
sive repairs. In this undertaking, he was necessarily led to reflect
on the insufficiency of his house, in its then existing form, for his very
numerous family, which it was the comfort of his old age to see col-
lected about his fireside, as often as their own several avocations and
separate homes made it possible. His own masterly taste for improve-
ment asserted its claim, and he was thus for some years engaged in
a train of rural occupations, which were productive of much plea-
sure, and contributed much to sustain his health.
He was yet in the highest condition of mental vigour, and in a rather
improved condition of bodily health, when he came ultimately to the
determination to resign. In this he was partly governed by the ap-
prehension that every object which could be attained by delay, was
already past or secure. But he felt that the Terms had been latterly
making formidable inroads upon his remaining strength. From these
he had begun to return much worn and depressed in strength ; and it
was easy to calculate how very short a time such a struggle might con-
tinue. It was his hope yet to enjoy some years of retreat, cheered by his
friends, his books, and the ever-restoring air of his beloved Kilmurry.
324 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTJI
And in this there was every reasonable hope of fulfilment. For though
his strength was easily shaken, it never failed to return after a few
quiet days at home, and his own peaceful and affectionate circle found
him the same animated and informed companion as ever.
A remarkable change was destined to be brought about by means
from which such results could hardly have been expected — means, on
the notice of which we enter with some reluctance. We are unwil-
ling to make our pages the vehicle of censure and imputation, on
whomsoever they may fall: and though fully informed of the main
facts, we feel that we have not before us the precise details by
which all such statements ought to be guarded. We shall, however,
keep within the mere assertion of what we authoritatively know, and
what no one will controvert.
It had not been at any time the -ambition of the Chief-justice to
obtain a peerage: he had been indifferent on the subject; and this for
very wise and sufficient reasons of his own. It was not the desire of
his family, or of his friends. They at least felt that no title could
add splendour to a high and ennobled name. They felt, and doubtless
feel, that the throne can give no title more honourable than the name
he has left. His fortune was not equal to the rank, and his native
and manly pride was indeed above it. But it was his right — and,
what is more, it was the right of the Irish bar — the usage of the
bar in both countries established it; it was no question whether he
was to be particularly honoured with such an appendage or not. But
it remained with the Queen's government to consider it as a new
question, whether a most insulting innovation, directed against the
Irish bar and bench, was to begin with one of the greatest men they
had ever produced. That illustrious man, little as he aspired to a
peerage, could not but feel the slight undeserved, which fixed a seal
of apparent humiliation and contempt upon his life of meritorious
exertion, and on his high reputation: and which so far (happily not
very far,) as the act of an administration could so operate, would,
at least for a few days, have the effect of throwing a noble name
into the ignoble list of candidates for an elevation to which their pre-
tensions are found wanting. It was not in this instance a favour
sought for, or even an honour desired: it was a matter of course, not
cared for, till it was wrongfully and injuriously withheld. To make
this painful and offensive, it was enough that the public, the bar of
both countries, and the wide circle of acquaintance and friends, had
been looking forward to this result, with a degree and kind of expec-
tation, by the disappointment of which it was not in human nature
not to be deeply wounded. The bans had been published, and the
guests beginning to assemble, when the marriage was broken off;
and though the parties had never been lovers, yet when they became
hurt by the humiliating surmises, and the insulting reasons, much re-
sentment and mortification might still be felt, and much damage of
character might be sustained, or at least apprehended. Such was
truly the nature of a slight, deeply disgraceful to the understanding,
the taste, and feelings, of the person or persons from whom it came —
a stain which cannot be effaced from the memory of the administra-
tion of 1841. For this reason it is proper to state, that the insult was
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 325
repudiated with the disdain it merited, by many of those whose names
will live in the brightest pages of history. In withholding names and
circumstances, we should mention that it is not from any want of specific
and authoritative information. We have in this work adopted a rule to
avoid all unnecessaryallusion to living characters. We are also notquite
sure that we are yet at liberty to use our entire materials. This
unjustifiable insult was painfully aggravated by circumstances of an-
other kind; his name, like every noble name, had been recently as-
sailed by the low animosity of Irish faction : the liberal press, which,
in this unfortunate country, has been sustained by all the worst pas-
sions and lowest elements of vulgar prejudice and popular error,
thought proper to assail the Chief-justice on grounds with which, of
all others, they were least competent to deal. With the most profound
ignorance, or a still more flagitious dishonesty, they attacked some one
of his decisions as a judge, referring it to those party motives from
which it was the deepest affection of his moral nature to shrink:
throwing thus on the most sensitive spot, (his tender sense of the purity
of the judicial character,) a torrent of that obloquy and uncandid
imputation, which every lawyer and every gentleman listened to with
scorn, but which it was the infirmity of his nature to recoil from as
a shame. His sense of justice was like the honour of a virgin, that
feels tarnished by the very sound of a calumnious whisper. But these
wrongs are yet too recent to be touched upon with historical indif-
ference ; and we must refrain for the present. We shall hereafter (God
willing) have an opportunity for much interesting detail, quite unfit
for such a memoir as is here designed ; we are here only concerned to
state, that these circumstances conspired to cast a heavy shade over a
spirit that had been framed for the light of honour and the reciproca-
tion of good-will, and that had been nursed upon them through life.
The Chief-justice could not, in a moment, accommodate himself to a
position as unfitting and unmerited, as it was difficult to comprehend.
And it is to be observed, that his moral sensitiveness of nature had,
at this period of his life, undergone the changes usually produced by
age, ill health, hard labour, and a nervous temperament. As if
this was not enough, there was another trying taunt, widely circu-
lated, and reproduced in every form, by the intrigues of the party
which was anxious to harass him into resignation. It was, with most
unwarrantable audacity and most infamous untruth, circulated, that his
intellect had become weakened by age to an extent incompatible with
his judicial duties. It was perfectly true that his physical strength
had in some measure become unequal to labours which were still per-
formed with the utmost ability, to his own great hurt, but not to the
prejudice of his court. It has indeed so happened on circuit that he
had (in this very period) the business of both courts to discharge.
And it was in the very last twenty days of his judicial life, that the
whole business of the Irish government was thrown upon his shoulders
as Lord Justice; no other individual of the persons appointed being
enabled to attend. Let us be allowed, at the expense of saying too
much on this most unworthy topic, to advert to some personal recollec-
tions. We were at the period (1842) frequently thrown into the
company of the Chief-justice, under circumstances which, at the
326 POLITICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
same time, give the fairest and the most trying scope to the under-
standing. The excitement of a youthful and varied circle of the
most alert and cultivated minds, may be fairly said to possess a power
to awaken and restore the faculties that once were brightest — the
" Cervantic spirit that used to set the table in a roar" — and for this
reason we shall not speak of the prompt common sense, and the clear
and witty comment, which was not unheard to the last in the social
hall of Kilmurry. But we can recollect more retired and serious
hours of cool and yet earnest discussion, upon some of the most diffi-
cult questions upon which human learning and reason have been
exerted in modern times; and remember to have sat wondering at the
well digested and seemingly elaborate statements, from recent reading,
of arguments as difficult and complicated as any that could be often
heard in cpurts of justice, and which demanded a far more indepen-
dent use of all the faculties, and gave less of those aids which are de-
rived from professional habits and technicalities. We state this as
the result of our own personal observation, with the best opportuni-
ties; and it is advanced in opposition to the assertions of a low faction,
which not only raised calumnious doubts and questions on the subject
of his intellectual competency, but even went so far as to raise its cavils
upon facts, which would, when fairly viewed, lead to very different
conclusions.
Although the mind of the Chief-justice was at this time as clear
and bright as ever, his nervous system, never of the most resisting
structure, was much and frequently acted upon by those causes of
irritation, and mental anxiety, which began thus to be poured thickly
upon him, at the season of life when rest is looked for, and is essential
to life. , The abuse of the press, which he held in contempt, came at
an unfortunate moment, because it chimed too accordantly with more
serious incidents; and helped to give a force and a significance they
otherwise could not have possessed, to the deep insult he received from
the head of her Majesty's government; and the reasons given were
as insulting as the act, and as discreditable to their author. Never,
indeed, was the old reproach that "it was enough to be a man of
genius and an Irishman, to be treated with neglect," so accurately
verified, by a gentleman, a part of the policy of whose administration
has been to adopt the stigma as a maxim. Had it been simply
the mere claim of merit, it was, indeed, to have been expected
from the hand that pushed down that ladder by which its power had
been reached: but a right founded on established custom, and ac-
knowledged in the least imperative cases, was now denied and abro-
gated in the instance which, had it not existed, should have created it.
On such an occasion it needs no special authority to say, that an old
servant of the crown — a man nursed upon a nation's admiration — a
man to whom honour was as "the breath of his nostrils," and the light
of his life — a man, too, who had been calumniated — a nervous, quick-
cspirited and anxious subject; — was, because he must have been,
shaken irrecoverably by the blow, laden as it was, with ingratitude
and contempt. Regardless of titles, he felt the denial, and, as is the
law of man's nature, the matter soon acquired an importance not its
own.
PERIOD.] CHARLES KENDAL BUSHE. 327
He visited Loudon to tender his resignation ; and on this occasion
was warmly received by a large circle of noble and distinguished
friends. Among these, it was soon felt that his retirement was not
the result of any failure of professional or mental competency: and
among the eminent persons to whom he was then introduced, there
was but one sentiment of admiration for the singular charm of his
manner and conversation. A deep sense also was shown of the injus-
tice he was about to sustain; and had such been his wish it would have
met with the merited castigation.
A memorable scene occurred in the library of the Irish courts on
the 4th of November, 1842 ; the day on which the gentlemen of the
Irish bar took formal leave, in addresses of which every sentence
expressed truths and feelings worthy of the occasion, and of the high
and honourable assembly whose mind they expressed. Such forms
must often occur, and must, in most cases, be in part ascribed to
courtesy, and the kindly consent of many to the language dictated by
the affection of one. But on occasions when a really great man retires,
whose fame is a living reality undisputed among the educated com-
munity, a sentiment becomes awakened so strongly, that it spreads even
to those who were hostile. That day was the honourable close of the
public life of the last of an illustrious constellation of minds, such as
Ireland never produced before, nor (considering the tendencies of the
age) ever can again. Among that brilliant circle, he could not be reck-
oned second to any, for, however excelled in particular qualifications
by one or two pre-eminent men, when taken "for all in all," his match
never existed. His goodness, that diffused a glow of kindness even
over the court — his fancy, that charmed the cultivated taste — his clas-
sical information — his fine and delicate tact — his noble integrity and
delicate sense of honour — his expansive benevolence, animated by the
liveliest perceptions — the graciousness of manner in which so many
kind and so many elegant tendencies combined: and withal, the mas-
terly reason, more clear and sound than shrewd, by which, in his judg-
ments, he threw a light of demonstrative certainty and easy natural
connexion upon the skilful Gordian knots of legal advocacy. To such
a man, at such a moment, there could be no flattery, and the affection-
ate address of the bar was true as a record of the court, as it was far
more solemn arid worthy of permanence.
It was in the last year before his death, that his mind began to in-
dicate in some degree the effect of these trials. While his strong
and clear reason retained its whole mastery, the lapse of memory be-
came frequent and progressive. Of this he was himself painfully
sensible, and often adverted to it. It did not indeed amount to any
material impediment to his power of enjoying the society of his
friends, or even of strangers, as the slightest impulse of spirits was
enough at any time to dispel the gathering cloud: and when he enter,
ed into conversation, his wit was as easy, and his judgment as clear
as could be desired. But it was easy to see, and fear the result of,
a fast increasing tendency to failure of recollection. To this it was
not permitted to come: a, slight affection, merely local, and to which
no importance was attached, required surgical operation: it was per-
formed skilfully, and with little pain. The immediate consequence
328 POLITICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
was an attack of erysipelas, which brought on inflammatory action in
the head.
He left home for the above-mentioned purpose in seemingly good
health and spirits; and his friends and relations were under no ap-
prehension for him: but in a very few days after, 10th July, 1843, he
departed this life, at the house of his son, Mr Thomas Bushe, near
Dublin. His mortal remains were interred in the new cemetery at
Harold's cross, — an arrangement which occasioned very great ex-
citement in the county of Kilkenny, where he was loved and honoured
by every person and class, who eagerly desired to do him honour, and
to claim him as the boast and ornament of his country.
&igfit Honourable OTtllfam £<ntvtn.
BORN 1758 — DIED 1839.
IN the year 1598, an edict was promulgated at Nantes by Henry IV.,
granting protection and the security of their civil rights to the French
protestants, who, as that politic prince saw, were not to be suppressed
by persecution. Under the protection of that law, they increased in
wealth, numbers, and influence, and with various fortune, extended
their ground for a century, during which they attained an integral
form, and a degree of civil power and importance which was ulti-
mately fatal to their existence. The jealousy of the government
was awakened, and the treacherous policy of Richelieu obtained
advantages and removed defences, until, towards the end of the
following century, Louis XIV. was induced by the then all per-
vading machinations of the Jesuits, and by the ascendency of a fierce
faction, to revoke the protecting law. This revocation was not more
incompatible with justice and humanity, than with sound policy, de-
priving the nation, at a blow, of the most civilized, enlightened,
and efficient portion of its mind. A general and almost tumultuous
emigration of the protestants rapidly drained France of that spirit and
energy which, in protestant countries, has universally been the origin
and promoting cause of civil liberty and national prosperity. Nor
would this inference be weakened by a survey of the personal history
of the numerous families thus transplanted into other lands.
Among those who, on that occasion, shook from their feet the dust
of a thankless soil, was a gentleman of the name of Saurin, who exer-
cised the profession of an advocate, with distinguished reputation, in
the city of Nismes in Languedoc, and who now retired from persecution
to Geneva with his family. This gentleman left three sons, James,
Lewis, and Mark Antony. Of these, the first mentioned is well
known in ecclesiastical history as an eminent theologian, and a
preacher unrivalled in his day. His works are still read and admired
for their union of eloquence with a profound and simple morality.
A small volume of selections from his writings was published many
years ago by Hurst, and affords a very high estimate of his powers.
Lewis, the second brother of this celebrated man, came over to
Ireland, about the year 1727, as we find by a letter of primate Boulter,
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 329
dated March, 1727, which is addressed to the archbishop of Canter-
bury, and which says, " on Monday last, Mr Saurin came to me with
your grace's letter." The letter here referred to also seems to indicate
the favour and high opinion of that eminent prelate. Another letter
from Boulter to the bishop of London, similarly refers to a " good
character," obtained from that prelate. Mr Saurin was recommended
by primate Boulter to the bishop of Kildare, who gave him a chantor-
ship in St Patrick's cathedral. From this inferior preferment, he
was soon after promoted to the deanery of Ardagh. Previously to
his leaving France, he had married a daughter of Le Baron Cornet de
l^abretoniere, a noble family of Normandy, and had one son and four
daughters. The son, James Saurin, was afterwards rector of St
Anne's in the city of Belfast. This gentleman married a Miss Johnson,
and dying early, left four sons ; of whom the eldest and youngest (Mark
Antony), adopted the military profession. The third son, James, was
the late bishop of Dromore. The second was William, the illustrious
subject of our present notice.
William was born in 1758; he was sent to school to the Rev. John
Dubordieu, the descendant of another French refugee, who then kept
a very eminent school at Lisburn. He entered the university of Dub-
lin as a fellow commoner in 1775; and, as might be presumed from
his natural tendency to severe application, and his singular clearness
of head, he obtained the highest academic distinctions. Much of the
early part of a lawyer's career passes unrecorded in the quiet obscurity
of the massive and ponderous learning he pursues, and this is more
particularly true of a man like Mr Saurin, whose calm and steady tone
of mind was not liable to be caught into the whirl of popular excitement,
or disturbed from its course by the passions of the day ; while several
of more brilliant but lighter, and far less powerful talents, were attract-
ing notice and obtaining newspaper celebrity, he was drinking deep
at the fountain head of the Constitution.
Having completed his university course, Mr Saurin entered as a
student at Lincoln's inn. It is remembered that, while in London,
he lived together with the late Sir Robert Langrishe and the late Mr
Lyndon Evelyn. It is also stated, in the manuscript from which we
learn this fact, that these three gentlemen afterwards " lived to be more
than eighty years, during the entire of which time the friendship and
intimacy they had formed in early life subsisted without a moment's
interruption." WTe can also state, upon the same authority,* that
during this interval, Mr Saurin was devoted to his studies, and dili-
gent in attendance at the law courts during the terms. Such a
course was productive of not many romantic adventures; and it will
be presumed that the same sober and steady governing qualities, so
pre-eminently exemplified in all we know of him, must have contri-
buted to preserve the smooth uniformity of a studious and prudent
progress to his profession.
He was called to the bar in 1780. But for several years, he un-
derwent the fortune of many eminent men whose pretensions were of
* A brief memoir of Mr S., written by a person who had been (it may be said)
Irought up in his family.
330 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
the same nature as his own, and whose moral and intellectual ten-
dencies being strictly professional, withheld them from all irregular
and indirect short-cuts to notice. Mr Saurin was not destined to
derive any help from the influences of popular faction ; nature had not
framed his intellect and temperament to be the luminary of clubs ; he
was neither a master of rakish wit, nor endowed with the flashy elo-
cution and manner which imposes on the vulgar. His style of speech
and method of thinking were far indeed from the glittering, but inane
phraseology which, some years ago, the English reviewers insisted
upon calling Irish eloquence, though there was not a taint of it in any
one of those whose names have obtained a permanent reputation
amongst us. In the texture of Mr Saurin 's feelings, talents, or know-
ledge, there was nothing to attract the populace, or those who thought
with and for the populace. His condition was in this respect, (and this
only,) similar to that of lord Eldon, whose acquirements and intellec-
tual mastery were of the same order, though in many equally important
respects the differences were great indeed. The strong mind of lord
Eldon was as coarse as it was strong, Mr Saurin's was pre-eminently
refined. Lord Eldon's profound arguments were perplexed in method,
and when they were not so, were still never remarkable for the impor-
tant qualities of a perspicuous and appropriate diction. Mr Saurin
excelled his cotemporaries in accuracy of method and in pre-
cision of language: to this consideration we shall have to return
more demonstratively by and by. He did not possess that forward
activity of temper, which so often involved the great man with whom
we have compared him, in pleasant and sometimes in embarrassing
adventures, and which must have had the effect of placing him also in
a noticeable aspect among his cotemporaries. Mr Saurin was, how-
ever, from the beginning, placed in a high and respectable circle.
But there was a simplicity in his reason and feelings, and a delicacy
in his taste and temper, which must have contributed to keep him
back, at a time when men were brought forward in Ireland by
courses of living in the world, and of acting in public life, very un-
like any thing we can conceive of Mr Saurin. Qualities of the highest
order can seldom be popular — a preponderance is acquired by their
very absence. A freedom from the constraint of principle — a reckless
ambition — an audacious temper — a sympathy with the public impulses
— a restless vivacity — and the command of the tawdry rhetoric of popu-
lar passion — are the low vices, and the vulgar talents, which in evil
times promote inferior men. From the temper and the sympathies
which such periods exercise, Mr Saurin was characteristically exempt.
The pre-eminent powers of his mind were reason and judgment; in him
they were developed to a degree which overawed and restrained the
play of the minor and less essential talents. His moral temper was
equally powerful and exclusive; a conscientious sense of duty rejected
every deviation from the one track upon which the spirit of truth and
justice could alone be followed. There was indeed but one way to
wealth and fame for such a man; and that was, in its nature, long,
arduous, and not within the cognizance of the vulgar eye. We have
been somewliat unintentionally led into these reflections by a consid-
eration of the lengthened interval during which Mr Saurin, like some
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 331
other great men, was allowed to remain unemployed; and we ought
to add, that there are other reasons, arising from circumstances com-
mon to the legal profession, which we do not think it necessary o
observe upon. There, however, must have been a reputation, such as
first-rate men acquire among their equals, from the beginning, at work
for Mr Saurin; and during the period of hope deferred, to which pro-
fessional aspirants must, in general, be subject, he was doubtless in-
creasing his stores of legal learning, and maturing his profound
intimacy with constitutional reason, in which he was so great a master.
It was during the interval which we have described, and, indeed,
considerably before he had attained to any noticeable degree of prac-
tice, that he married Mary, the relict of Sir Richard Cox, Baronet,
the niece of the late, and sister of the present marquis of Thomond,
by whom he had a large family. This event took place in 1786.
The first occasion which really afforded a just notion of what he
could do as a lawyer, was upon the election contest in the county of
Down, in 1790, when lord Castlereagh was one of the candidates,
and when he made his debut for Mr Ward, another candidate, in a
manner to obtain a degree of character, which was probably the
foundation of the subsequent employment which quickly followed, and
never afterwards deserted him until he rose to the highest pro-
fessional distinction. When once fairly brought before the critical
cognizance of the bar, the rest was a matter of course ; however slow
the public mind must be in the estimate of merits, so far removed
from popular information, the presence of a great legal understanding
is not to be mistaken in the eminently critical atmosphere of the
four courts. Stern and uncompromising virtue, simple worth, and
consummate skill, make prompt and deep impressions on those who
witness them, and bear indications as sure, though not so tangible,
as the records of the law. When a man with so little of the
specious or the popular in his mind and deportment as Mr Saurin,
was chosen, in 1796, by the lawyers, as captain commandant of their
corps; and when the high spirit and shrewd observation of that
body is regarded, it speaks with more than the common evidence
of outward acts, the sterling worth, as well as ability of the man. A
slight consideration of such incidents, may enable us to bring home to
our thoughts some adequate conception of the species of firm ascend-
ency which calm uncompromising principle, and the deeper and pro-
founder powers of intellect, are sure to gain: that such an estimate
cannot, in the present instance, be mistaken, is also shown by the
early efforts made by the Irish government to obtain the services
of Mr Saurin. The sagacity of the statesman at the head of
affairs, during that period of emergency, was not slow to discover a
command of the real elements of political wisdom, in the broad scope
of Mr Saurin's acquaintance with the profound and ample range of our
constitutional history, and in the firm temper, and unbending principle,
which were so needful in those unsettled and dangerous times — when
the struggle between revolutionary impulses and the laws of the land,
was direct and violent; and when it was hard to find a man of ability
untouched by the pledges of faction, and ready, as well as able, to
supply the great want of uncompromising and steady support to the
332 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
unpopular cause of order and law. In 1798, the office of Solicitor-
general was pressed upon him, with a degree of earnestness to which, in
the very considerable experience we have had of such proceedings, wo
cannot find an approach in any similar instance. His refusal was fol-
lowed, not only by letters of pressing solicitation and remonstrance,
but by the request that he would not decide until the writers (the prin-
cipal ministers of the Irish government) should have the opportunity
of urging the matter in a personal interview. To this effect we have
ourselves perused the letters from the earl of Camden, Mr Pelham,
and lord Castlereagh. Mr Saurin refused, as it was his determination
to oppose the measure of the Union, then in its progress. We shall
not here repeat the remarks which we have explicitly made on this
topic, in the immediately previous memoir. If any man could then
have clearly foreseen the remote effects of that measure, it would be
guch a man as Mr Saurin : but this was, perhaps, beyond the scope of
mortal mind. Mr Saurin, with Bushe, and other able men, saw the
immediate consequences — the first shock of a vast change. But it is
not indeed easy to imagine the constitutional understanding of Mr
Saurin perverted so far as to comprehend the idea of a wise or just
policy, in connection with the vicious instrumentality then exerted in
prosecution of that measure. He probably could not so divest himself
of the simple and pure identity of his very nature, as to connect him-
self with all that was mean and corrupt in political intrigue ; and so
revolted was he by these proceedings, that their memory haunted his
mind, and kept him afterwards aloof from that government, when his
opinions and principles would have been favourable to them. He took
his place among those who strenuously resisted the Union, and his
opposition remains a matter of history in the reports of the debates
which preceded it.
Afterwards, in 1803, he was, as before, urgently solicited to take
office as Solicitor-general, and again peremptorily refused. Of this
negotiation, there remain the letters of lord Redesdale, at that time
lord chancellor of Ireland, and the very person who best had the means
of appreciating the singular powers then chiefly displayed in his court.
For though the public is best acquainted with Mr Saurin as a crown
lawyer, and though our chief means of illustrating his merits have
been afforded by his practice in the criminal side of the law courts,
yet it was in the less familiar and popular practice in equity, that he
is more fitly rated by legal criticism. Great as a crown lawyer, it is
scarcely to be doubted that, had his course terminated where it ought
to have done, he would have left a name of the highest authority on
our list of lord chancellors.
In 1807, he was once more applied to by the government. On this
occasion his attached friend Mr Downes, then Chief-justice of the
King's Bench, (afterwards lord Downes,) used his influence with
him; and Mr Saurin, thus urged, though distinctly given to under-
stand by the lord-lieutenant that the existing government was not
likely to continue many weeks, yielded to his friend, and accepted the
office of Attorney-general, which he held for fourteen years.
Notwithstanding the high reputation and foremost place of Mr
Sauriu as a lawyer, yet from the circumstance of his having been thus
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 333
placed in the position of crown adviser for fourteen years, during a
period which offered very great and peculiar difficulties to the govern-
ment, it is a necessary consequence that his character, in the estimation
of the world, in a great measure stands on the ground of political con-
siderations. This, under any circumstances, must have the consequence
of affecting a memorable name with all the imputations which are insep-
arable from the ignorance, presumption, violence, and opinionative con-
tradictions of party feeling; but in this country, torn as it has been, even
from the very dawn of history, and still is, by the animosity of its fac-
tions, this consequence is far more to be felt by the biographer of a man
like Mr Saurin, who was so long charged with the thankless office of
keeping order in the midst of all the fiery tendencies of an uncivilized
and excitable people, and maintaining the law which it was alike the
policy and the passion of the larger section of the community to set
aside. With the utmost benevolence of nature, and the gentlest and
most unoffending temper, Mr Saurin possessed the sternest constancy of
will, and the most devoted sense of duty, so often found in connexion
with the purer and gentler affections of our nature. For the law of the
land, and for the civil constitution fromwkich it is derived, and to which
it gives support, he entertained the devotion of a mind thoroughly im-
bued with the spirit of both ; he identified himself with the law, and was
identified with it. It was truly a marriage for better for worse. With
its honours, he won something of its unpopularity. Honoured by every
member of his noble profession — loved by all who moved in his imme-
diate circle — respected by all who could rightly apprehend his quali-
fications, principles, and moral temper — he stood in that station against
which popular delusion and fury were from time to time directed.
We do not here in the least question the motives, or even the policy of
his fierce opponents; they perhaps thought it right to force their way
to what they claimed as civil rights, by the only means they consid-
ered likely to succeed. The law, as it stood, was not their friend, and
its guardians they regarded as enemies. They fell into a confusion,
which — so far as it was inadvertent — was very natural, and may there-
fore be excused. But it is our business to state the matter truly.
For this purpose, we shall here again bring forward a case to which
we have already found it useful to advert — the case of the crown
against Sheridan, &c. We take this, because it gives occasion to
state Mr Saurin's views on his own unimpeachable authority. It will
be plain that his sole and simple rule of conduct, and motive of action,
was in its character legal and constitutional, and in no degree affected
by those sectarian views to which any opposition to the popular party
in Ireland has always been artfully or ignorantly ascribed; and let us,
in passing, again say, that we do not now recall these considerations
in any spirit of censure; the leaders and partisans of every faction,
have always, and ever will use those missiles of faction, without which
no great popular excitement can be raised. The nice distinctions of
truth, in complex questions, cannot well be rendered popular. Other
expedients must be found to bring the ignorant into the field of dis-
cussion. These expedients it is not our province to discuss.
The question involved in the case of Sheridan, was one which — in
every way in which it can be historically viewed — was of a nature
334 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
which prescribed to the Attorney-general most peremptorily one
course of conduct, without any alternative but a dereliction of his
bounden duty. He could not fitly stand by and look on the viola-
tion of an enactment most especially under his official charge. The
convention act was passed in 1793, to prevent the organization of
assemblies assumingto represent the people. Unconstitutional in origin
and form, and armed with a dangerous character, such assemblies
were, from their near connexion with the masses, and with the prevail-
ing impulse of the hour, armed with a formidable force, and impelled
by dangerous influences. This fact was evident from their very con-
stitution; it was still more clearly ascertained by the precedent of times
then recent. There was, in the meeting in Liffey Street chapel, and in
the arrangements made for its permanency, and for the discharge of its
functions, a flagrant and public violation of this law — a violation so
broad and notorious, as to amount to a defiance of all authority. We
cannot here suppose that the very flimsy quibbles which composed the
defence on that occasion, could for a moment have had the slightest
weight with the able lawyers who used them for want of better.
Secondly, that breach of law was in its probable results and amount such
as to warrant and call for the resistance it met. It is no answer to say
that the real design of the parties was innocuous, or their ultimate view
legal : the law does not concern itself with results of which it can in nc
way be cognizant. Nor was it to be asserted that a liberal connivance
was rendered justifiable by the virtual improbability of any serious
return of the same combination of circumstances, which had formerly
been the result of similar movements, and been provided against by
such a law. If such were really the fact, it was a fact wholly beyond
the reach of human foresight. That law was a provision against pre-
cisely similar public movements, which had been the immediate
preliminaries to a wide spread conspiracy, of which no one pretends
to have any doubt, ending in a bloody and disastrous civil war. If
the prosecuted parties had even — with such obvious considerations
in view — cautiously endeavoured to draw the broadest marks of
distinction between themselves and their prototypal conventions of
United Irishmen, something might have been urged to excuse for-
bearance on the part of government. Instead of this, they took the
same course of daring open defiance, and fierce animosity against
the existing state of government, as the former conventions, with
which they endeavoured, in the fullest manner, to identify themselves
in purpose, character, and constitution. There was, in reality, no
reason, then apparent, why the officers of the crown should not
look for the same effects from the same causes; and had any such
consequence actually arisen, any neglect on their part might have
been cited as a proof that it was the design of government to foment
a rebellion, which every rational politician knows is the true instru-
ment for depressing the people of a country. Mr Saurin saw the vio-
lation of the law, and read the possible consequences by a clear and
confirmed analogy; and his judgment is confirmed by the defence
that was made for the traversers by the ablest men of their day.
But Mr Saurin did not in this, or any other case, oppose the mem-
bers of the Papal communion on the ground of their religion, or upon
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 335
any grounds but those which were absolutely and essentially principles
of the British constitution, as it then stood. On this point we shall
allow him to speak for himself. In adverting to the resolutions pro-
posed at the meeting, after reading out the first, which asserted the right
of conscience, and declared that no government can inflict penalties
for obeying any form of Christian faith, the Attorney-general distinctly
admits the principle, and denies the application, in one short sentence.
" Gentlemen, this is the first resolution ; the object of which, you will
plainly perceive, is to impress on the minds of the Roman Catholics
of this country, that they are this day subject to pains and penalties
for exercising their religion — a resolution not founded in truth, and
calculated to mislead the loyal Catholics of Ireland." Of the religion
of the people he took no cognizance, nor did he for a moment doubt
the loyalty of the nobility and gentry of that persuasion. But a
flagrant and palpable infringement of the law was not on such grounds
to be allowed ; and in the strong denial here quoted, is to be clearly
ascertained his actual view of those disabilities — not pains and penal-
ties— under which they then laboured. It seems to come within the
range of axioms, that a class of the community which refused assent
to the express and essential conditions of the British constitution,
could not legally be admitted to any power inconsistent with its
safety; and assuredly, the refusal to be subject to the laws would
be inconsistent with the . power of legislation. We do not here
affirm that such was the fact; but it may be taken as an illustration
of the principle of exclusion. Such was then certainly the strongly
grounded opinion of the wisest statesmen, warranted by the retrospect
of several centuries: nor could it have been at that time wholly
removed by the admission of the most devoted loyalty, because there
actually existed, independent of any such consideration, a still more
potential foreign claim, the full assertion of which, by means of
powerful secret machinery, would at any time largely change the
state and direction of popular feeling. Such was the state of fact ;
and looking at it according to the most abstract rules of social
existence — not to talk of express law — it justified, and seemed to call
for, civil disabilities, in times when a very low state of civilization
placed the Irish people more at the mercy of such influences, than
perhaps they now are. At all events, this is the sole ground on which
the question ever could have been fairly discussed.
Mr Saurin felt both liberally and affectionately towards the Ro-
manists, among whom he had many sincere friends; but this could
neither change his principles, nor dispose him to violate them. He
foresaw to some considerable extent those consequences which have
since that time actually occurred; — consequences of which no wise
man will pretend to see the end, or to assert that they are not largely
qualified with evil. But yet it was not Mr Saurin's opinion or desire
in any way to impede the right of petition, or any safe and lawful
effort for the removal of these disabilities. This he emphatically
affirms ; and appeals to the good sense and reason of the Roman
Catholics themselves: — " I will beg to leave it, not to you, (the jury,)
but to every unprejudiced man, every Roman Catholic who hears me,
whether the convening such an assembly in the metropolis of this
kingdom can be reconcilable — not with the statute law of the land
336 POLITICAL SERIES [SlXTFI
but with the principles of any law whatever — whether it is to be en-
dured in any state in which there is the form of a government, that an
assembly so constituted should be tolerated or allowed." This he
explained more at large, by the exposure of the vicious application of
the representative principle in the form of the Convention. Indeed, this
is somewhat too obvious to go into further statement of it; for we
must repeat it, the meetings which the Attorney-general then resisted,
were in form and ostensible mode of proceeding, as well as by express
declarations, identified with the convention of 1783, and plainly de-
signed to attain by a demonstration of force, that object which they
had failed to obtain by legal petition. Whether it may be asserted
or not that such was a justifiable alternative, it is quite plain that
resistance must be the duty of the officer who is appointed to main-
tain the law inviolate.
Mr Saurin simply asserted and maintained the law; and by a vigi-
lant, courageous, and able discharge of the trust of his high office,
long averted the evils which were to follow, and which, since, have fallen
alike on everything respectable in either church. Evils, it is true,
largely qualified with good, which has been erroneously attributed to
the same and similar causes ; but with these considerations we are not
concerned. Since Mr Saurin's time, the structure of the constitution
has widely changed; the frame of society is no longer the same; and
these changes are due to many causes. The following clear answer
to the only objection in any degree specious, may also serve as a spe-
cimen of a singularly terse and lucid style, by which all Mr Saurin's
speeches were alike and uniformly distinguished. " But it is con-
tended, that an assembly as respectable as this, could not be guilty of
any misconduct, or act in any way contrary to law. Gentlemen, it is
not that an assembly of this magnitude has in it many respectable
and loyal persons, that it is, therefore, to be countenanced or endured ;
or that the public peace can be guaranteed by the integrity of such
persons. In such assemblies, it is notorious, that the moderate and
well-meaning are overborne by the turbulent, the factious, and the
desperate.* Let me call your attention to that very committee, out
of whose resolutions the present intended assembly was to take its
rise. We all recollect that committee and its proceedings, during-
a great part of the last year, and beginning of the present. I ap-
peal, not to you, but to every loyal and dispassionate Roman Catho-
lic who hears me, whether that committee, though containing many
most respectable and loyal men, did not proceed to such excesses,
to such an abuse of the privilege under which they claimed to meet
— of all decency and decorum — that every good and loyal Roman
Catholic was ashamed of them. Were there not found members of
that committee, also, to deliver speeches so gross that the seditious
press of Ireland became afraid to publish what they were not ashamed
to speak. Every man who regarded the public peace cried out against
them ; and I am sure, that if blame be imputable to the government,
with respect to that committee, it must be that it did not interpose
sooner, not for having interfered with it when it did. When it was
* If this were not an obvious result of human nature, it is the lesson of nearly
all authentic history.
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 337
expected — at least when every one hoped that it was about to termi-
nate its sittings — it issued a circular letter, calling for a perpetuation
of itself, by the addition to its numbers of ten representatives from
the counties, and five from every parish in Dublin. It was then, and
not till then, that government interfered: it interposed, not by the
exertion of a power beyond the law, but by notifying to the magis-
trates that the intended elections of persons, to be incorporated with
the committee, would be against the statute law of the land, and that
recourse would be had to the law, to prevent such a mischief. That
interposition had the desired effect; treason and sedition were check-
ed in their progress, and the project was for a time abandoned," &c.
This most unvarnished and authentic statement puts the whole pro-
ceeding of the Attorney-general in its right aspect, and leaves no need
for justificatory comment, or room for fair animadversion. It may
be added, that his sole aim being in this case the assertion of the
law, and the preservation, by its power, of the public peace, he had
determined to carry his proceedings no further than merely what was
required for this purpose. This is made apparent by after circum-
stances.
The jury brought in a verdict, which seems unaccountable on any
actual ground — " not guilty," for want of sufficient evidence. On
this, no comment is here required. The consequence was a continu-
ance of the same illegal proceedings, with all the mischievous parade
of triumph over authority.
As the verdict of acquittal was expressly, though somewhat ab-
surdly, given on the ground of insufficient evidence, and as there could
be no doubt either of the law, the facts, or the character of the offence,
it was the duty of Mr Saurin not to allow the law of the land to be
set at nought. He brought another action, for the same offence,
against Mr Kirwan. The opening of his address to the court and
jury on this occasion, has strong claims on our attention; not merely
because it expresses his motive with his usual perspicuous power, but
because, in the manner of this expression, it also strongly conveys
the character of the speaker — the reality of his deep reverence for the
laws and constitution, which he understood so much better than most
men — and that fervent singleness and simplicity which appears so
remarkably in all his addresses. "I did feel a hope, and I say sincerely,
an ardent wish, that it should not have been rendered necessary for
me to proceed further upon the indictments, which had been found
in the last term. I had entertained hopes, although the autho-
rity of the king's government should not have been sufficient for the
purpose, that, at least, when the supreme court of criminal jurisdic-
tion in the country had solemnly pronounced the Roman Catholic
committee to be an unlawful assembly, the persons composing it
would have bowed to the law, and desisted from the project of
establishing such an assembly. But, gentlemen, I entertained that
hope in vain. Finding a determined and persevering resolution, in
those who compose that body, to act in defiance of the king's
government in this country, and to trample upon the laws of the
land, it becomes the duty of every good subject; it becomes the
duty of every man who wishes well to the peace of the country, and
the preservation of that happy constitution under which we live, iiiid
VOL. VI. Y
338 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTII
in defence of which I trust all of us are ready to die; but, more
particularly, it is the duty of the government, who are the peculiar
guardians of that constitution, to enforce the law," &c. The case
offers in itself no topic of interest, nor were the arguments to which it
led particularly important. As the reader is probably aware, from the
previous memoir, there was a great display of very extraordinary
eloquence by the Solicitor-general: on the part of the traverser, there
was also remarkable ability wasted in that strange class of ingeni-
ous, but too manifest subtleties, which impose on no attentive intel-
lect, and which, from their very nature, could only be produced in the
course of a proceeding where highly trained logicians are under the
necessity of saying something for their fee. The facts and law of the
case were such as to admit neither of difficulty nor doubt, but involved
to the utmost extent in both, by exceeding shrewdness and ingenuity.
A verdict of guilty was nevertheless brought in by the jury; and the
Attorney-general, content with the success of his firm assertion of the
law, followed it up by a wise and temperate course, so as to afford an
impressive illustration of the mild and equitable spirit in which it would
operate, if so permitted by the class of offenders thus exposed to its penal-
ties. " It is not my wish," he said, when moving for a day for pronounc-
ing judgment, "that any punishment whatever should be inflicted on
Mr Kirwan, further than that the court should make such observa-
tions on the nature and consequence of the offence, as its wisdom and
justice may suggest. I am happy to say, that his majesty's govern-
ment has taken the subject into its most serious consideration, and
having been fully satisfied that enough has been done to satisfy the
public at large, not only as to what the law is on the subject, but
also that the law, as it now stands, can and must be enforced; and
that every man in the community, not only ought, but must, obey
the laws." Our space only admits these few sentences, expressive of
the mild but uncompromising policy on which his entire official con-
duct was framed. And we may add, that if, in such a course, he ob-
tained the evil report of a powerful, and, as it has turned out, indomit-
able faction, it is because the fiercer pertinacity with which that fac-
tion has prosecuted its purposes, and the unmeasured and unqualified
vituperation with which it has throughout repaid all opposition of every
kind, has not failed to obtain the success which belongs to thorough
consistency, though it should be in evil ; and by the most unwearying
uniformity in perversion and misrepresentation, addressed to the popu-
lace, to render everything good, pure, or exalted, the object of a low
democratic faction, sensible to resentments, and impregnable to rea-
son. The principle of Mr Saurin's policy was, indeed, simple and just.
It was not less framed for the exigency of a dangerous crisis, than it
was accordant with the spirit of the British constitution ; as it was
directly aimed against an abuse, then not in its beginning, but since
matured into a part of the constitution, (its element of ruin,) the ad-
mission that illegal combinations of classes may be allowed to overawe
all constituted authority. Such, in fact, has been the publicly admit-
ted, and nearly sole rule, of later administrations, in effecting the
most vital changes : hence parliamentary reform; hence the atrocious
municipal reform, than which, so far as regards its main provisions,
PEKIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAUR1N. 339
there never has been, in ancient or modern times, a more senseless
and fatal measure.*
It was not against measures, or in opposition to the professed objects
of any class of his majesty's subjects, that the Attorney-general sought
to guard, but against the means by which these objects were sought.
These were, we repeat, the defiance of law, and of the very principle
of law; they were discernibly the essential first steps of revolution,
against which, in its more violent and accelerated forms, it is the
business of every wise and good man to guard. In opposition to these
views, we know, there are opinions and prejudices, which have gradually,
bv long sufferance, taken the character of arguments. That party
whose habit it has been to resort to such arguments, has begun by
vindicating the lawlessness of its proceedings, by the (real or ima-
gined) justice of its claims. But if the justice of these claims is
to be admitted, yet the admission will not authorize the pulling down
of the constitution to obtain justice, still less go to prove that there
should be no resistance to unlawful proceedings. The argument
proves too much — it puts an end to all rights. But, it has been
generally assumed, that the rightful claims thus asserted, could not
have been obtained in any other way. If we admit the right, such
an assumption may go some way to extenuate the means actually used;
but it still does not touch the duty of legal resistance, and we are ab-
solved from discussing this delicate point. We must, however, in can-
dour, say, that we do not grant such an assumption. The progress
of the social state, under the circumstances in which Ireland must
have been but for these very contests and disorders, together with
the necessary consequences of that progress, have been wholly dropped
out of the question. There is in actual progress, a force, the result
of growing national wealth, commercial advance, and the increase
of the educated orders, which, if permitted, would soon sweep away
all minor inequalities, and special disabilities, in its onward course.
This is what has been kept back in Ireland; the means employed were
most fatal to the end proposed; no growth could prosper in the per-
* There is not in all history so strange a specimen of ignorance and oversight
as the measure which at once delivered over the entire administration of civic
affairs, with all the wealth, privilege, and influence appurtenant to them, to the
very faction in Ireland against which the whole power of law was found barely
sufficient to contend. Nor was this all : these powers were transferred from the
respectable, informed, and wealthy class, who had previously held them, to a low,
ignorant class, with which the more respectable individuals found it impossible to
coalesce. The corporations of the present hour have the felicitous distinction of
combining evils which were hitherto imagined to be contrary to each other : the
sanctioned robbery and peculation of jobbing, with the fierce political concentra-
tion of democratic clubbism. Mr O'Connell, in one of his early speeches in the
House of Commons, told a great truth, though we cannot quite answer for his
meaning : he exclaimed against the inutility of corporations, and asked for their
total abolition. We cannot help thinking that they have survived their original
uses — the protection of that commerce and of those privileges which they now
tend to oppress. The main functions which the constitution of cities now employs,
might well be committed to the ordinary operation of the commercial principle —
of all principles the most prudent and operative. It is only in that class of
nterests to which this principle does not apply, and in which the tendencies of
human nature have a contrary direction, that a corporate organization can be
useful.
340 POLITICAL SERIES, [SlXTH
petual fever of parties ; to make the tree grow, they kept pulling it up
— it would have grown of itself had they but let it alone. But we must
arrest the course of these reflections, of which the end is distant, and
which will win little favour with many of our readers. The intellect of
Mr Saurin was not one to be baffled by the confusion of principles, or
by the fallacious equity, in which it must be admitted that there is to be
detected a little of that confusion of thought, which has been ascribed
to the shrewdest people in the world. His most peculiur and marked
property, was a clear and broad comprehension of law and legal his-
tory. He had before his mind the infancy and early growth of British
laws and enactments. He saw their intent in the state, constitution,
and incidents of the times in which they began ; and could unwind the
complicated and far descending threads of legislation and precedent,
with that ease and simplicity which could only belong to a great master,
and which placed him first in the first rank of his profession. Among
the incidents of one of the trials we have been noticing, there was an
argument on the qualification of jurors, to which we might refer as
one of the numerous illustrations of this remark. It seems quite
amazing, considering the necessarily casual nature of the occasion, to
find a disquisition of so much research as to its materials, so admir-
ably arranged and connected, and so very perspicuous and cogent
both as to style and inference; and we must add, we trust without in-
vidiousness, that this admiration increases when we follow out the sub-
ject through the able answers which followed. Without being at all
deficient in skill or learning, there is between these able arguments
and that of Mr Saurin, a very curiously remarkable difference, rather
easier to feel than to describe. If the reader will try to conceive a
writer or speaker engaged to argue on a learned and deep doctrine,
upon which his knowledge is merely general, and executing his task
by heaping on his table a whole pile of voluminous authorities, col-
lecting his matter by a laborious search, digging here and there,
and hunting through indexes, and following out references, until he
stands up to speak laden with the cumbrous lore connected perforce,
and by the light of an ex parte case: he may have thus a view of
the effect so often impressed after such artificial and forced preparation
in the statements of some of the ablest advocates. How contrasted
with his opponents, in this respect, was the impression made by the
entire argument and style of Mr Saurin. It was that of a man
speaking his ordinary thoughts, from the free, natural, and habitual
play of his mind. On the most profound subject, and in the most
refined and subtle argument, he only seems to be affirming the obvi-
ous dictate of common sense ; and it is not until we meet the question
in some other hand, that we perceive that it is difficult and perplexed.
His law appears to have been digested, assimilated, and incorporated
with his mind.
Our space does not permit of any considerable selection of the dis-
tinguished causes in which Mr Saurin bore a leading part. As an
equity lawyer, he stood conspicuous in the first rank; but we have
riot materials adequate, did our space allow, to form a satisfactory
estimate of him in this respect; and, indeed, the importance of the
official station which he filled, in a season of extraordinary difficulty,
must be looked on as the proper object of historical commemoration.
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 341
The case of the King v. Waller O'Grady, offers a very striking ex-
emplification of the character of mind which we have endeavoured to
describe, and which we consider sufficiently remarkable and peculiar
to deserve the fullest prominence. The reports of law cases are gene-
rally too much restricted to the mere matter of the pleadings, or to
the law or precedents, to admit of any critical distinction between
the counsel engaged in them. It is only in a few causes of great
public or professional interest, that any effort appears to be made to
give an extended and full report, such as to offer some adequate idea
of the real measure and quality of the eloquence and intellectual
resource so eminently exercised at the Irish bar. The case here
adverted to, is for these reasons, as well as for its great intrinsic
interest, especially to be recommended as affording a point of view
most favourable for those who wish to have brought fairly before
them the true intellectual shape and character of the profession in
this country, of which, we have no hesitation in asserting, that it is
not in point of ability to be surpassed elsewhere. This case, in its two
successive hearings, has been reported with first-rate ability by a
lawyer whose habitual accuracy and profound knowledge of the sub-
ject, enabled him to do the fullest justice to an argument which has
left no resource of art or legal discrimination unexemplified.* We
consider it but fair to the able bar opposed to the crown, to state,
that they appear in some parts of the long and elaborate argument on
their side, to disadvantage, from the entire want of case. The sophis-
try which was, we doubt not, an inevitable expedient, and which may
have been not ill adapted for its immediate purpose, does not so well
bear the test of a deliberate perusal. The arguments which are
attempted to be drawn from assuming the appointment of Mr Waller
O'Grady to be an adjudication of the Court of Exchequer, cannot im-
pose on any understanding. The argument on the title, which follows,
though far more specious, is felt to be unsatisfactory, and only escapes
the same censure because, to an unprofessional reader, it is not quite
so clear. It is, however, exceedingly clever, and proposes a very diffi-
cult object. It is essentially an effort to separate the common law from
the circumstances of immemorial usage, which must, from the nature
of the thing, be its only sure test, by arguing from precedents which
are neither uniform nor unequivocal, and by reasoning from principles
of fitness evidently fallacious, and not applicable had they been just.f
* We refer to the two reports of Mr Richard Greene, now the Attorney-general
for Ireland.
f We may, in one respect, be ourselves deceived from the want of strict
professional experience in the language of old statutes ; but we felt some surprise
nt the degree of admission which seemed on all sides conceded to the construction
of the statute of Westminster, used to support the argument on the common law,
of which it was alleged to be declaratory ; for certainly, in any form of statement not
belonging to the legal instruments, the language cited by Mr Plunkefc, and repeated
by his colleagues, does not go so far as the point required. Acc9rding to the ordi-
nary use of language, the clause cited seems to state simply that the judges were to
have clerks for certain purposes — as they aliv ay shad — wholly omitting all considera-
tion of appointment, and thus leaving the question where it was. Now, there is cer-
tainly a high probability, from the nature of the case, and from a consideration of the
likely manner in which customs first rise, that the judges did appoint their own
clerks ; but all this would not prove the common law. Nor would it follow that
a right, growing first out of the real insignificance of the consideration, while the
342 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
Our narrow limits, which are fast converging to an end, do not
admit of any adequate view of a character of intellect, or of a repu-
tation which can only be fairly estimated by the history of the most
eminent causes which occurred during many years. The generality
of legal reports, though fully adequate for the main practical use of
the courts, can afford but meagre notions of the skill and learn-
ing which they so frequently exercise. A few more full reports
like those we have noticed, fortunately remain as records of the stand-
ard knowledge, and ability of the British or Irish bar. With the
two most able reports of the great cause just adverted to in this me-
moir, it needs no elaborate effort of critical justice to inform the
reading and thinking part of the world of the masterly professional
skill and learning of Mr Saurin. It would be a hard task to discover,
among the remains of intellectual achievement, clearer or more con-
summate proofs of judgment, knowledge, command of that knowledge,
clerk was really but a private servant, would amount to common law, if interfered
with before it became fixed by immemorial usage as a settled right. Customs
change their very nature, and have been variously interrupted by enactment and
authority ; and the proof of a broken usage, or of even a law for centuries laid aside,
can surely find no strength from the very rule of prescription which may, more
clearly, be pleaded against it. The argument resolved itself too much into a mere
question of probability, and the probability lay the other way. We would state it as
follows : — A public officer, engaged in weighty and complex affairs, soon discovers
the necessity of a clerk, and engages one — this is a common case — the clerk is,
so far, a private servant to his employer, nor is it necessary to suppose any official
cognizance of his existence. Business increases, forms multiply, and with the in-
crease of these, all the parts of the business must tend to assume separate cha-
racters and responsibilities ; and thus, from being private, assume more and more .
an official and public nature. Now, when such a state of facts becomes apparent, it
is quite evident that it must be also a very obvious consideration to the legislative
authority; or, in arbitrary times, to the executive authority. It may then rapidly
undergo these obvious and usual changes. An enactment like the statute of
Westminster may render it obligatory on the justices to have clerks of the same
nature as before, still leaving untouched all considerations of their appointments.
Such a statute may be, so far as the argument goes, considered the first law on
the subject ; and does not bar the investment of the right of appointment in the
crown. This process goes on — the clerk becomes a public officer, invested with
a freehold in his office. Now, such an event, whenever it occurs, must have
wholly altered all the real conditions of the assumed case. Then arises a direct
reason why the legislature ought to interpose, and where the crown would be most
likely to interfere ; and interferences of that last description constitute no small por-
tion of the customary part of our polity. Now this we would submit as containing
the real reasons and the true elementary principles of the question, in opposition
to all the reasoning from probability, so largely mixed up with its discussion. On
the precedents applied, and on the arguments derived from the forms of practice,
we shall not presume to offer a word ; but we cannot help observing that, con-
sidering the conclusive replies on the part of the crown, we have felt surprised
at the case having been re-argued. To this circumstance we are, however,
indebted for the most able and consummate piece of legal reasoning, on a subject
of so much extent and compass, and involving so much of legal theory.
After perusing, .with some labour, the successive statements and discussions of
as able, ingenious, and learned a bar, as are likely ever to meet, or to have met;
and after groping, with more or less difficulty, through the clouds of intellectual
sorcery which they have conjured out of legal antiquity, it comes like some wonderful
transition into the clearness of natural daylight, when Mr Saurin's statement pro-
ceeds to dissipate even the semblance of difficulty, and to throw the simplest cha-
racter of common sense and indisputable inference on every point ; and to unravel,
with consummate ease, the knots which were so skilfully tied.
RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 343
precision in its employment, admirable perspicuity in its exposition,
and all the subordinate qualifications necessary to give these their
highest standard value. In an attentive perusal of that great trial,
in both its parts, (our present purpose requires no distinction,) in
which the first men of their day were the counsel on either side — the
whole theory of the law, — the subject — and all the resources of
reason, employed — it will be impossible for the most partial not
to perceive the clear pre-eminence of Mr Saurin in the more solid
and sterling qualities of the lawyer. Something, in fairness, must be
allowed for the difficulties of the adverse counsel, who had, in reality,
no case, and whose business it was to make as much legal obscurity
as they could. But comparison is unnecessary; Mr Saurin's speech in
reply in the appeal, may safely be compared with the first specimens
of legal eloquence that can be found or recollected. When some one
remarked that Mr Saurin was not eloquent, he was well replied to by
Mr Burro wes, " he despises eloquence ;" and if eloquence is to be
estimated by trope and figure, by the trite flowers of prose poetry,
or by ranting appeals and apostrophes to passion, he did well to de-
spise it. We cannot say what figure Mr Saurin might have cut in
some of those popular appeals to juries, which owed much of their
fame to the rudeness and unlettered taste of their hearers, and which
maintain so little of their reputation in print. But if Demosthenes had
been heard in the King v. Waller O'Grady, the same hearer might have
found the same defect. Cicero has remarked that there is a harmony
and method (modum et numerum) derived from propriety of expression,
" Ipsa enim natura circumscriptione quadam verborum comprehendit
concLuditque sententiam; quse cum aptis constricta verbis est, cadit
etiam plerumque numerose" Now, aptness of language was the quality
which naturally resulted from the accurate understanding and fully
digested knowledge of Mr Saurin; and hence, if the reader will turn
to any report of a cause in which he was employed, he will easily
discover the very remarkable exemplifications of the principle here
stated. In some of the other speakers, he will find very ingenious
combinations, very elegant terms, strong and effective rhetorical
figures, and now and then a magnificent conception introduced in a
masterly style. But he will also discover a very general disregard in
the mere use of words, and a frequent resort to commonplaces, which
arc only correct by the courtesy of colloquial use. Now, all this we
do not censure : to avoid it, the eminent persons of whom we speak,
should have recourse to a very absurd and (we think) unsuccessful
attention to phraseology. We only advert to the consideration as
illustrative of a distinction. Mr Saurin's precise and clear concep-
tions, without effort, by a natural process of the mind, generated apt
and simple language, and produced a style of almost unparalleled
ease, simplicity, and terseness, which might easily escape the notice
of an Irish jury, though it would not fail to produce its due effect on
their understanding; but which cannot fail to be appreciated by those
who have critically investigated the real science of reason and its
rhetoric.
In calling the attention of our readers to this cause, we had com-
menced with a view to bring it forward much more fully, an intention
which may account for the diffuseness of the preceding observations.
344 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
But we find it impossible to proceed into the lengthened array of ex-
tracts by which alone our design could be effected. To any but a law-
yer, every extract would require explanations, often of some length ;
and no lawyer requires to be informed on the legal eloquence of Mr.
Saurin. One other cause must be briefly noticed; it was the occa-
sion of a very violent attack upon him, and drew forth a response of
which the effect was nearly singular. Our respect for the feelings
of the living will render our description less explicit than may be
wished — we mean the case of the crown against the editor of the
Evening Post. The question will not be material to our present
limited statement. It was, like those of Sheridan and Kirwan, a trial
of party, and brought into play all the passions which such cases
never fail to elicit. Mr. Saurin's statement for the crown was
marked, like all his addresses of the same kind, by his characteristic
humanity and moderation, and was but a clear and simple statement
of the facts and of the law. He was answered by Mr. O'Connell, in
an amazing torrent of that vituperative eloquence, in which that
learned gentlemen, able as he is in all parts of his profession, excels
all men living. On this occasion, Mr. O'Connell dealt out his unspar-
ing fury on every side; the jury was not spared; and the Chief-jus-
tice on the bench quailed beneath the tempest of a fury that was not
in that case merely rhetorical. There was a verdict for the crown ;
and on the 27th November, 1813, Mr. Magee was brought up for
judgment, and an affidavit having been made on the part of the crown
in aggravation, on account of the line of defence, Mr. Saurin had to
address the court on this point. In the perusal of his most feeling,
but most calm and dignified address, the reader is surprised at the
clear illustration of a truth, often spoken, but not so often exemplified,
how much calm and regulated skill exceeds the exertion of mere vio-
lence, even though accompanied by power; and how much single-
minded truth and integrity are an overmatch for the resources of popu-
lar sophistry. But what will most strike the reader who is curious in
the study of moral phenomena is the impression made by this most
eloquent reply (for such it virtually was) on the eminent person against
whom it mainly told. For the moment it completely effaced from his
recollection that he had himself transgressed every rule of moderation
or humanity, and even of rhetoric, to pour his wrath upon the very
man to whom he now listened with all ^he surprise and consternation
of the most helpless injured innocence; and that such was his feeling
at the moment, manifestly appears, for it is equally marked in the sub-
stance and manner of the beginning of his reply. On this occasion he
seemed quite unlike himself — totally unconscious of all the fierceness —
seemingly forgetful of the recent effusion of his own wrath, while in
a few incoherent sentences he expressed his astonishment at severity
so unearned. Was he not as respectable in point of standing as his
opponent — was he not a gentleman, his equal as to fortune — and
such other questions, were the first remonstrances from lips that
never spared any rank or respectability when they met his resent-
ment. When we first read the few disordered sentences, which we
do not quote, because the paper (the Patriot} in which they are re-
peated has for the moment disappeared in the mass of our other
papers, we were struck with the same amazement which the bar
PERIOD.] RIGHT HON. WILLIAM SAURIN. 345
must have at the moment felt, at the tone of deprecation into which
the bold and fiery animosity of the great champion could be rebuked
by the gentle, and pure, and sensitive spirit of Saurin. But that
gentle and tender spirit had no weakness, and was ever maintained in
its own lofty course by courage, integrity, and truth.
We have only to add to the above remarks that, as we never have
had the opportunity of hearing Mr Saurin, we cannot pretend to say to
what extent an admirable style of language and reasoning may have
been in any way affected by action and manner, which are so much to
an auditory. We can, however, hardly be mistaken in the strong
impression which the whole of Mr Saurin's deportment, in the course
of the half-dozen trials we have carefully read, together with the
moral tone of his speaking, have made upon our mind: that of a com-
manding dignity of character, purpose, and moral tone, which obtains
respect without the help of the stagetrick of oratory. The model of
the poet, "Justum et tenacem propositi" stands clear in the single and
simple unity of all his words and deeds. There never was a public
officer more firm, yet less arrogant — more defying of influence, yet
affectionate in his nature.
We regret that our materials are not such as to enable us to enter
with any proportionate detail into the private life of this truly great
and worthy man; and we must avoid any unnecessary expendi-
ture of space, by passing briefly through the remaining events of his
life. When he accepted the office of Attorney-general, he had on
some occasion been led to express to his able friend and colleague, the
Solicitor-general (Bushe), his determination or intention not to stand
in the way of his preferment — of course it will be understood that the
expression of this purpose was, in some degree, the result of some
views of the peculiar line of conduct with regard to office, which he
had proposed for his own adoption. But, as was very natural, his
highly fastidious and honourable mind always after recurred to it as
a pledge. This impression was one of the main motives which go-
verned his conduct several years after, when a change took place in
consequence of the retirement of lord Downes from the bench. On
this occasion, the government (for reasons of which we desire to avoid
all notice,) projected an arrangement, by which another eminent
gentleman was to fill the station then held by Mr Saurin : this was to
be effected by raising Mr Saurin to the vacant place on the bench. Mr
Saurin refused the promotion. A peerage was added to the offer, and
still refused. To his family and private friends, we are inclined to be-
lieve he pleaded his pledge to the Solicitor-general; and that gentle-
man, with the high sense of honourable feeling which actuated all
his conduct, strongly joined in the remonstrances of his friends, and
explicitly absolved him of the supposed pledge. But Mr Saurin was
invincible in his resolve, and, rejecting all compromises, fell back on
his professional practice.
At this point, we can only take up the language of a brief but au-
thoritative sketch, which has furnished also most of the early portion
of our narrative. He " continued in great chancery practice, until,
at length, having become father of the bar, and feeling the weight
of years, he took leave of the profession in the year 1831." The
346 POLITICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
address of the bar we subjoin in a note,* as we feel it, in his case, to
have a documentary value, describing, as it does, those professional
qualifications of which his legal brethren must be esteemed the best
judges.
We again take up the manuscript, from which the main facts of this
imperfect sketch are drawn. "Eminent as Mr Saurin was in public,
still it was in private life he shone conspicuous. His temper was
angelic, cheerful, and never ruffled. He was easy of access, and in
manner most engaging. His spirits were playful, his conversation
pleasing and instructive. Pure and perfect in all the relations of
* ADDRESS OF THE BAR TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM SAURIN. — " On behalf
of ourselves and those members of the bar with whom its present dispersed state
has enabled us to communicate, we are anxious to express the sentiments of deep
and sincere regret with which we heard your determination to retire from amongst
us, and, at the same time, (whilst we disdain any allusion to political subjects,)
to record, for the benefit of the profession, those distinguished traits of private
and professional merit which have contributed to form a standard of character so
worthy of being held up to imitation. It is now more than half a century since
you commenced your professional career, founded upon a deep and well-grounded
knowledge of the law in all its branches, a preparation which in due time placed
you in the first ranks of business and reputation, from which no change of circum-
stances ever displaced you for an instant. The professional honours which you
attained, were the consequence and just reward of the talents, learning, and in-
tegrity, which added a greater lustre to office than they derived from it. In the
exercise of your profession, we have ever witnessed the firm and uncompromising
advocate of your client's interests, without infringing on the respect due to the
bench, or wounding the feelings of your opponents ; we have been delighted and
instructed in witnessing the daily exercise of that rare combination of talent, ac-
curate discrimination, and sound judgment, with which you always placed your
client's case in the most favourable point of view, without deviating from that strict
integrity and truth which ought not to be sacrificed under any circumstance, or for
any consideration ; we have had ample experience of the unvarying kindness and
good feeling which you have ever shown to the juniors of the bar, and of that un-
affected pleasure with which you have always regarded the advancement of merit
in our profession; and whether enjoying the dignity of office, or the still higher
dignity of pre-eminence without it, we have ever observed in you the same equani-
mity of temper — the same urbanity and courtesy of deportment, both to the bench
and to the bar. Need we then say that the retirement of such an individual from
the situation of the father of the bar, is a subject of deep regret to each of us,
whether we look to ourselves individually, or to the true interests and character
of our profession ; but to yourself we are persuaded the change must be one of
unmingled satisfaction; and we fervently hope that the evening of your days may
be as mild as the morning has been brilliant; and that in the bosom of your family
and the serious and undisturbed contemplation of that home to which we are all
approaching, you will enjoy a peace of mind to which the bustle of professional
life is so opposed. We trust you will believe us sincere when, with feelings of
filial affection and respect, we express from our hearts our best wishes for your
happiness here and for ever."
ANSWER. — " Gentlemen and friends, — I should justly accuse myself of presump-
tion, if I did not ascribe to the friendship of some, and the good will of all whose
respectable signatures were affixed to your address, the highly-coloured estimate
contained in it of my professional qualifications and acquirements ; such, however,
as they may have been, it will now be to me a subject of pride and exultation, at
the close of so long and prosperous a career in profession as mine has been, that
my conduct should have met with the approbation, and that I should have de-
served the esteem and affection of so numerous and distinguished a portion of
my brethren in profession, as have honoured me with their address."
PERIOD.] JOHN SIDNEY TAYLOR. 347
life, he was beloved by all who knew him; and at his death, wept
for and regretted by every member of his household."
This last-mentioned event occurred on the llth of January, 1839-
We have only to add to this imperfect account of a great and worthy
man, that he was a firm believer in the truth of revealed religion.
The fact we can state on the authority of those who knew him best;
but we cannot be mistaken in the assurance which the character of
Mr Saurin affords of a tone of intellect which never fails to receive
truth so well attested, and of a temper of heart which such teaching
alone can impart.
Caglor*
BORN 1795 — DIED 1841.
AMONG those whom our university has sent forth in the present cen-
tury, many of whom have risen to station and some to fame, not one.
possessed nobler claims to a high expectation of both than John Sidney
Taylor. But he was destitute, in the early part of his life, of most of
those adventitious aids by which many are early enabled to enter on
their course with the best advantages, and to offer themselves in a
conspicuous light. He was, partly by necessity and partly from choice,
committed to the obscure and laborious chances, the patient waiting,
and the tedious drudgery, of the English bar. In Ireland, perhaps,
his college character, and the possession of that oratorical talent so
prized by Irish taste, with the far less formidable competition, might
have opened earlier prospects of success, where many contempora-
ries and juniors, with whom it would be derogatory to compare him,
have since risen to office and practice. It is true, that his actual
success was such as to warrant the highest expectations: but having
chosen a slow and secluded path, his full promise was only yet known
to the small but eminent circle, whose judgments of men are indepen-
dent of, and precede the sentence of fame. Had his life been spared, a
few years more would have brought his high talents, and the noble and
strenuous moral energies of his nature, into their appropriate position.
We premise these remarks, because to numerous readers of this work, it
may not appear by what title a name, which has not been heard much
beyond the college and the inns of court, appears among the very
small number of modern names here selected for our commemoration.
The name of Taylor's family was originally M'Kinley; he was de-
scended from that captain M'Kinley who was leader to the party of
King William's troops which first crossed the Boyne under the heavy
fire of James's army. His mother was a descendant of General Sarsfield.
His father took the name of Taylor with a small inheritance, which he
soon dissipated by improvident hospitality, and the indiscretion of unre-
served friendship. But having thus received a lesson of experience, he
made, in some measure, amends for want of prudence, by industry and
talent; and contrived to maintain a large family by his skill as an engra-
ver, until a worthy and devoted son took his place, and long continued
to support his aged father, and educate his family. To the care and
348 POLITICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
considerate affection of this gentleman, the subject of the present notice
owed the earlier part of his education.
John S. Taylor was born in 1795. We pass the earlier years of
his life, only mentioning that he shewed early signs of those virtues,
and that thirst for knowledge, which were afterwards prominent in
his life : — intrepidity, energy, firm tenacity of purpose, and the scorn
of untruth and meanness. In the Dublin University Magazine, for
February, 1843, some anecdotes may be found confirmatory and illus-
trative of these general statements. He was sent to school to the well-
known academy of Mr. Samuel White, from which he entered as a
pensioner in Trinity college, under the tuition of Dr. Wall, who was
then well known for his acute and clear style as a lecturer, and is now
known as author of one of the few works of modern times remarkable
for comprehensive learning and unequalled logical discrimination and
force of inference. The expressive simplicity and precision of this gen-
tleman's lectures, though used for a different purpose, was no bad
model for the early training of a mind of not inferior but widely dif-
ferent powers; and it is not, on mature consideration, to be doubted,
that daily lessons (for such they virtually were), in the more solid and
practical style of reasoning, had no small influence on a mind of more
fancy, and more cast in the mould of rhetorical address. We offer these
remarks, not from any notions of theory, as might be suspected: they
are the result of curious and attentive observation of the facts under
the most favourable circumstances: having had the happiness to have
the same tutor, having been in the same class, and in the habits of the
most intimate and affectionate friendship with Taylor, the progressive
effects of which we speak are now before our recollection, diffused in
many a well-remembered hour of confidential intercourse, such as early
life alone supplies. And we should add, that this first influence of
academic discipline was rendered the more conspicuous from a very
peculiar imitative power in Taylor's mind. Of this we shall presently
speak. With a native love of rhetorical effect, a turn for wit, and a
boundless fancy, he was for the first two years of his course, before
more laborious avocations, and more serious habits grew upon him,
in the daily habit of pursuing some light and playful controversy,
through all the mazes of dialectic sophistry, with the writer of this
memoir; — the proposition being mostly the whim of the moment,
and the purpose merely playful.
The intellect, thus rapidly developed and expanded, was not de-
ficient in any of the higher powers: we would not say that the inven-
tive or speculative, or even the faculty of pure reason, held the more
prominent place. Sagacious discrimination, an extensive and happy
power of combination, used at that time in subservience to taste and
rhetorical effect, more than to any practical end, and equally shewn in
the play of language and of allusion to fact, were the most marked
habits of his conversation and compositions. His power of critical
discrimination was of the first order, and essentially connected with
the extraordinary talent for imitating styles, so well known to all his
intimates in college: this was founded on his fine feeling of excellen-
cies, and exquisite tact in seizing on every peculiarity. It was ren-
dered remarkable in a higher degree, by his rare command of language.
PERIOD.] JOHN SIDNEY TAYLOR. 349
We can recollect, at the long interval of thirty years, a walk with him
from town towards the Park, together with a young gentleman with
whom he was not very much in the habit of associating, and who had
rather forced himself upon our walk. This person was endowed with
much intellectual ambition, but, as often curiously happens, gifted with
no talent: his conversation was, as might be expected, full of trite re-
ferences and shallow opinions — it was very teasing. He was listened
to with ready complaisance by Taylor, who seemed amused, rather
than impatient, of quotations, which were the more impertinent, be-
cause they were expressly made in compliment to his genius. Taylor
was however meditating mischief. After listening a little in compla-
cent silence, he affected an air of enthusiastic satisfaction, and began,
in his turn, to pour out brilliant and effective passages in prose and
verse, which he alleged to be among the happiest specimens of the
various well known authors referred to by our companion. Cowper,
Thomson, Pope, Ossian, Milton, Shakespere, Young's Night Thoughts,
the Eambler, Junius, Addison, the inspired writings, each in turn
afforded highly impressive and graceful passages, never before heard,
but with all of which our companion affected the most perfect
familiarity. We must confess that we were for some time imposed
upon, and so completely was the style, manner, and cast of ideas
caught, that it would have required great intimacy with the authors to
have escaped the snare. We however knew the man, and soon guessed
the reality. Taylor was too charitable to undeceive our man of taste,
who went off' equally satisfied with his own judgment and Taylors
prodigious memory, which he continued to praise, in somewhat of an
invidious tone, until many years after, in one of our splenetic fits, we
electrified his vanity with the mortifying truth.
Taylor's success in obtaining the prizes for English verse was con-
stant and unfailing: his compositions, as regards language and versi-
fication, were of a very superior order. We did not, with some of his
other friends, consider his genius to be that of a poet. It was not the
habit of his mind to strike out new trains of thought, or to generate
conceptions: he rather seized on some argument or view of a subject,
and catching from history or circumstance the best and most judicious
line of topics, connected them into a well-ordered statement. This
he would, as he proceeded, adorn with the most effective allusions, the
most striking associations, far found and happily combined ; often
clothing an argument in a simile, and concealing a dexterous sophism
in a sparkling play of words.
In the historical society, his prepared speeches were in general
worthy of his powers, and were received as they deserved. In the ex-
tempore debate which followed, he did not appear to the same advan-
tage. He did not, indeed, take any interest in the small matters which
were then discussed; but, as he confessed to the writer of these pages,
was impressed with a notion, that it would be useful to him to acquire
that hardihood which might, he thought, be gained by standing up to
address a large assembly at very great disadvantage. The common
anxiety about opinion was wholly a stranger to his mind : he never
cared to have his inferiors appear to comparative advantage, but with
most unusual steadiness and intensity, looking far into the ends of
350 POLITICAL SEEIES. [Sixrii
professional pursuit, he spurned the frivolous impulses by which young-
men are so often led from step to step, and fixed an eagle glance upon
the distance, which, alas! it was not allowed him to reach.
There was a charm about Taylor which we fear we must fail to
communicate. It was not entirely that he had a manner of thinking
and expression peculiarly his own, and that the tritest thing fell from
his lips with a dress and an effect strikingly new. There was a
fashion in his heart, and cast of feeling, which carried the same im-
pression with far more depth and power. We do not mean to impute
to him the ethics of profane antiquity, when we say that there was
in his spirit a proud and stern reflection of what orators and poets
have conceived of Roman virtue. He resembled one who had lived
with Brutus, and been in habits of intimacy with Cato. We only
aim to convey a thought, for Taylor was a Christian in an eminent
sense. But he towered in spirit, with a high and bold severity,
above the gentle weaknesses of common humanity. He could not
feel affection where he felt no respect, and his disapprobation was
frankly expressed.
He obtained a scholarship with the highest honour — that is to say,
eight best marks, and we believe a high place; the immediate result
of which was a high exhibition in addition to the common emoluments
of a scholar. The first names on this occasion among his class-fellows
were Gallogher, Wolfe, Downes, and himself. From this event, he
must be regarded as having secured his way to independence. We
have so far entered diffusely upon the main distinctive features of
his intellect and moral character: in these chiefly must rest the me-
mory of one who, if he had lived, would have left his name to history
and to the higher records of his profession. But in relating the actual
incidents of his brief career, we must rather consult the narrow eco-
nomy of space which has pressed upon us throughout this work, but
is now restricted to limits perceptibly insufficient for the duty which
we have undertaken. We must, therefore, be as nearly summary as
we can; and, for all omissions, content ourselves with the statement,
that there is a full memoir in the Dublin University Magazine, for
February, 1843, to the statements of which we can bear our own
personal testimony to a great extent. It was written also by an inti-
mate friend.
Having adopted the legal profession, Taylor went, in 1816, to London,
for the purpose of completing his terms; and soon came to the de-
termination of trying his fortune at the English bar. It may well be
presumed that he entered with his wonted zeal and spirit into the
necessary studies; but the writer of these pages, then himself living
in London, can only now recollect the long and pleasant rambles, in
which he had the happiness to be his constant associate, in the roads
and suburban outlets. It is now well ascertained that at this period
he, in some measure, supported himself by literary employment for
journals and periodicals — a commmon resource of Irish students in
London.
His connexion with the Morning Chronicle, then the property of
Mr. Perry, was the first of his engagements which led to any decided
results. Among these, not the least important was the acquaintance,
PERIOD.] JOHN SIDNEY TAYLOR. 351
then formed with the lady whom he married about ten years after.*
This lady was a Miss Hull, Mr. Perry's niece.
Sometime during this interval, he entered into the publication of the
Talisman, a weekly paper, with some other literary Irishmen. But
the capital was wanting, and it did not succeed in any proportion with
the talent engaged upon it. He next accepted an engagement with
the proprietors of the Morning Herald, which was far more perma-
nently influential in making him known, and giving public effect to
his real powers. In that leading journal, he continued for a long
time the principal writer and adviser, leading the public opinion on
the most important questions then under discussion. Among these,
he took an important part in the great reform of the criminal code,
then under revision, and contended for or urged by several of the
most eminent public men, of whom Romilly was the leader. Taylor,
whose humanity was no less prominent than the high public spirit
which was perhaps his characteristic quality, lifted his powerful testi-
mony in the columns of the Herald, against the severity of our san-
guinary list of capital offences, with so much effect as to draw the
universal attention of all parties then engaged in political life. And
it has been since often admitted, that his efforts mainly tended to pre-
pare the ameliorations which have since been happily effected in our
criminal jurisprudence ; in which, at that time, there was so little
proportion between crime and punishment, that the real consequence
was impunity, arising from the palpable injustice of the law. For
his powerful leading articles on this great evil, during many years,
Taylor obtained the universal respect of good and wise men, and
earned a just claim to the public monument, which, since then, has
been raised to his memory by subscription.
Taylor, soon after he was called to the bar, was employed in a
cause which brought out all his best powers, and placed beyond
question his prospect of attaining still higher distinction as a lawyer
than he had already won as a writer. We cannot here enter on the
well-known details of the Eoscommon peerage case. After much
exertion, during the continuance of this arduous and perplexing case,
in which he had to reply to the leading counsel on the opposite side,
the cause was won by his efforts ; and it will be enough to add here,
that the Lord Chancellor, in delivering the judgment of the House of
Lords, assured him that he had only to go on as he had begun, to ob-
obtain the highest professional distinction.f
His strenuous and bold, as well as talented exertions and remon-
strances, were signally conspicuous and successful in saving one of the
most beautiful remains of antiquity in the metropolis from the ignorant
and barbarous hands of the civil authorities, who had resolved on pulling
down the Lady chapel of St. Saviour's, for some purpose of trade ac-
commodation. The ill taste, and the abandonment of all true British
feeling, in razing a monument of one of the most affecting and awful
passages of our national history, for some vile use, we forget what, a
pump, a bazaar, or a rag-fair, roused the historic feeling and the poetry,
and called forth the eloquence and the indignant energy of resistance,
* Dublin University Magazine, February, 1842.
f Dublin University Magazine, ut sup.
352 POLITICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
from one who towered above the mindless temper of that low utili-
tarianism which measures all things in the sordid scale of gain. So
effective and strong was his appeal, when he appeared professionally
in behalf of the committee for the preservation of the building,
that they, as a testimony, ordered the armorial bearings of his family
to be painted on one of the windows of the Lady chapel. Similar dis-
tinguishing and honourable exertions, on his part, mainly contributed
to save the screen in the York minster cathedral, which was similarly
doomed to destruction by the narrow and unenlightened spirit which
will, we fear, not want occasions to manifest itself, while the corporate
institutions by which the concerns of cities are conducted shall be suf-
fered to remain.
We have no excuse for further protracting this outline. Its manifest
disproportion to the real merits of our lamented friend would scarcely
be amended by the meagre details of ordinary interest. His circuit
business was rapidly increasing during the last few years of his life ;
and the prospect of a parliamentary career, for which few were more
eminently fitted, was already in view, when his health began to shew
fatal signs of the effect of the severe and unremitting labours of his
profession upon a delicate frame. The last exertion in which his great
powers, and equally conspicuous moral energies, were nobly displayed,
was in the case of the youth Oxford, in which his single efforts were
successfully opposed to the earnest exertions of the entire force of the
crown.
But the rush of a vast torrent of law business, which, after the last
mentioned success, began to pour freely from all quarters, was too much;
his frame had been for some time insensibly yielding to the unrelaxed
industry which his business required, and which it was his nature to
give. He was not patient of trifling, and to his intense spirit, all was
trifling but his duties : he could not rest unless by the compulsion of
exhausted nature. A most agonizing disease, to which the sedentary
student is -most liable, manifested itself, and after several painful sur-
gical operations, which he endured with all the firmness of his cha-
racter, the powers of life gave way, and he breathed his last on De-
cember 10, 1841.
His career had but begun; but it was a beginning worthy of the
noble talents and still nobler moral temper, which, had it been so
willed, would, in a few years more, have earned no secondary fame,
and stopped at no rank but the highest. In the estimation of all who
knew him, he held the first place: and though but in his beginning,
he had already made his powers felt, arid his talents known to the
profession which he was beginning to adorn, and to the public. His
lofty spirit of freedom, and of liberal and enlarged humanity, was so
tempered by a sound and solid understanding, that there never ap-
peared, in his most enthusiastic moments, a single taint of the de-
magogue. Nor were these eminent moral qualities in him left ex-
posed to the temptations of civil life, and the infirmities which are
native to the human heart, without that safeguard which alone de-
serves to be trusted, and alone is to be considered a security in the
season of genuine trial. His goodness did not rest in stubborn pride
of heart, or in clear perceptions of self-interest, or in the sympathies
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. 353
of a feeble mind, or in any other of the frail bonds of commercial and
social life ; he was a Christian, whose faith had been severely tested
for many years ; for the circle into which he was thrown, during the
earlier struggles of his professional life, was that of the scoffer and
the scorner. His understanding was, it is true, too clear and broad
to be perverted by the quibbles of the smart, but shallow and pre-
judiced infidel; but every one knows the effect which example and
social influence throw upon the mind. In despite of such influences,
Taylor stood firm in the faith, which, in the midst of trials of every
kind, preserved the integrity of as noble a nature as the state of man
permits in this fallen world. That which was pure, that which was
true, that which was sanctified by right principle and the law of the
land, which he never, through life, was tempted to deny, were his real
principles of action. And if, among his many virtues, his most inti-
mate observers could espy a fault, it was the stern and rigid tenacity
of right, which sometimes caused him to condemn severely thoso
deviations which his own nature refused to comprehend.
After his death, a public meeting was called, and was attended by
the most eminent men of every party. It originated a subscription
for some monument to record the general sentiment. A monument,
inscribed as follows, was the result: —
TO
JOHN SIDNEY TAYLOR, A.M.,
TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN,
AND BARRISTER-AT-LAW OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE ;
WHO DIED DECEMBER 10, 1841,
AGED 45.
THIS TOMB WAS RAISED BY THE UNANIMOUS VOTE OF A
PUBLIC MEETING HELD IN LONDON,
FEBRUARY 19, 1842 ;
TO MARK HIS MAINTENANCE OF THE PRINCIPLES OF CONSTITUTIONAL LIBERTY,
CHRISTIAN MORALITY, AND HIS SUCCESSFUL EXERTION IN ADVOCATING
THE ABOLITION OF THE* PUNISHMENT OF DEATH.
ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES.
Militant JHasee, 23.3i., Srtpto^op of
BORN 1764 — DIED 1831.
IT had been our design to give the memoir of this illustrious prelate
— a memoir so largely connected with the history of the Irish church
— with a detail proportioned to its real importance. For this, how-
ever, the limits within which we are pledged to keep, will not admit
of: so that we must restrict our plan for the present, and, in a great
degree, confine this memoir to the personal history of the late arch-
bishop Magee. This we should much lament, did we not entertain a
strong hope, as we are possessed by an earnest desire, to make full
amends, at no distant period, by presenting the public with an inde-
pendent memoir on a scale proportioned to our materials.
VOL. vi. z
354 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
The ancestor of arclibisliop Magee was among those Scottish loyalists
who came over to Ireland in the great rebellion of 1640. He settled
in Fermanagh, where he transmitted a good property to his descendant,
Mr. William Magee, whose second son, John, was father to the imme-
diate subject of this memoir.
John Magee married a lady of the Presbyterian church, who was
endowed with very considerable talents, piety, virtue, and prudence,
which probably laid the foundation of the character and success of her
son. In leaping a wide ditch, Mr. Magee received a hurt, the conse-
quence of which was the amputation of his leg. This severe casualty
forced him to retire from agricultural pursuits, and sell his farm.
His generous and unsuspecting nature was taken advantage of by an
acquaintance, who induced him to put his name to some security, and
then dishonestly left him to bear the responsibility. The security
turned out fraudulent, and the responsible parties absconded. Mr.
Magee was left to meet the liability; but his well-known high char-
acter warded off all imputation. The creditors showed their sense of
his integrity, by allowing him <£100 per annum out of the wreck of
his property. After this event, he removed with his family into
Enniskillen.
His third child, William, was born in 1764. He was the only sur-
viving son of his father. In his fifth year, he was sent to a day-
school, from which, in two years after, he was removed, at his own
earnest wish, to the endowed school then conducted by Dr. Noble.
His mother's half-brother, the Rev. Dr. Viridet, a highly distin-
guished scholar,* soon observed his early development of intellect,
and took him from school, with a view to ensure full justice to his
talents, by his own devoted care and cultivation, a purpose which he
nobly fulfilled.
He entered college as a pensioner, 30th June, 1781, under Dr.
Richard Stack. His undergraduate course was marked by the
highest honours the college could award. In addition to the January
premiums, which, according to the old system, implied beating every
competitor; in the succeeding examinations, he obtained, each year,
every certificate, which proved the uniform maintenance of the same
superiority. In 1784, he obtained his scholarship. He took his
degree of A.B. in 1785, with signal marks of honour: among these
was the gold medal for uniform good judgments.
The fellowship was of course his next object, and to him, the severe
course of study, which was the essential preliminary, was a labour of
love; for his talent was not more distinguished than the deep and
earnest thirst for knowledge, which is always the best earthly security
for success. The extent and difficulty of the fellowship course, in the
Dublin University, is generally known — comprehending the whole
extent of every branch of human knowledge, and combining the seve-
ral ranges of the other universities; while this trial is rendered far
more arduous by the principle of competition. The fellowshipman
* This gentleman obtained a scholarship in Trinity College, in 1769. In 1778,
he was instituted into several preferments in the diocese of Tuam, which he re-
signed in 1804.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. 355
Las not only to master an extensive course, but to gain the object of
his severe studies, he must beat several other able candidates, all well
versed in the same course. Of this course, we can only now delay to
remark, that though it has since been greatly improved and extended,
yet in point of difficulty and severe exaction of intellectual effort,
there is by no means a proportionate increase. To an intellect like
that of Mr. Magee, the depths of science, and the intricacies of theory,
were little more than the amusement of a studious temper, that served
to exhaust the waste powers of a mind of perhaps excessive activity.
With a temper eminently mercurial, he was as industrious as the
dullest drudge: and with an overflow of animal spirits, which would
have turned weaker brains, and a less prudent spirit, into the procli-
vities of vice, folly, and dissipation, he held his steady and exemplary
course, equally remarkable for his regular, and unrelaxing industry,
and for the innocent hilarity and pure cheerfulness which made him the
ornament and delight of society. In him the flame of life seems to
have burned brightly — he appears to have been only impatient of rest.
His day of hard study was relieved by the gaieties of the drawing-
room, the laugh, the music, the dance, or the pleasant and lively con-
versation; and wherever he came, his appearance was as fuel to the
fire, and gave the impulse to renewed animation. From the scene
of gaiety, it was his wont to retire late to his academic cell, where he
renewed his labours through a considerable portion of the night. To
these general statements we shall only add, that he uniformly avoided
all intercourse with the idle and dissolute, and formed his intimacies
and attachments among those who, like himself, did honour to the uni-
versity. Among these was Mr. Plunket, (now lord Plunket,) who was
his companion from infancy. For it is a curious fact, that the parents
of these two distinguished men lived in Enniskillen, in houses under
one roof, and separated only by a party wall: as afterwards, in the
period of their elevation, each to the head of his respective profession,
they themselves lived in houses similarly situated in Stephen's Green.
Mr. Magee's success on the fellowship bench may be regarded as
too much a matter of course to retard our progress with details. On
the attainment of his fellowship, in 1788, it was his earnest desire to
enter upon holy orders. He found a temporary obstacle in the wishes
of his affectionate uncle, who was anxious to have him called to the
bar, then the great object of ambition in this country. But a nobler
impulse than human ambition can give, had obtained possession of
his breast; and with all his reputation, the high expectation of his
numerous admirers, and his own lively social temperament, he formed
a strong desire to take holy orders. Such a wish was little reconcile-
able, indeed, with any of the influences with which we must assume
him to have been surrounded at that time. But it is not hard to
understand the strong constraining impulse which is ever felt by
minds obedient to the sense of duty and ruled by principle. Mr.
Magee had already been impressed with a deep sentiment of spiritual
self-devotion; and notwithstanding the bright prospects of temporal
ambition which opened so fairly before him, he privately set his heart
on the then thorny and unpromising walk of the ministry. Had he
been a man of lower reputation and duller mind, this might be less
356 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
favourably interpreted; for, at the time, the church was little more
than the retreat for those who were least fitted for more active call-
ings; it offered an humble competency to many who could hope for
nothing higher, and a handsome provision for a few whose family in-
terest was sufficient to secure its wealthier endowments. But Magee
belonged to neither of these. His talent was enough to secure the
first success in any profession; his family commanded no interest ade<
quate to such expectations. A college-living must then have appeared
as the ultimate prospect before him, after the years of severe drudgery
to which the junior fellows were then condemned. But there is
indeed a serious reflection belonging to any just view of the man,
the time, and the eventual result, which we cannot without a lapse
of duty omit. It is a common mistake of historians to overlook the
main consideration essentially following from the admission of Scrip-
ture truth — that there is an overruling mind at work in all things,
but more especially in ordering the succession of events which must
affect the state of the church. This is a truth which can only be
denied by the infidel, and may be safely assumed. When, therefore,
we consider the effectual and comprehensive consequences of Magee's
writings and administration, in reforming a vicious state of the church,
and arresting the progress of a dangerous infidelity, which advanced
under the insidious character of a Christian sect, we cannot, for our
part, avoid the inference of a special calling for a special end. This
will, we trust, be placed in a broader light, when we shall presently
have offered a faithful description of the state of the church at that
period. But first, we must state the incidents connected with Mr.
Magee's choice of the ministerial office. It was the earnest desire of
his uncle that he should be called to the bar, and such was the zeal
of this excellent parent, and such the grateful affection of his nephew,
and his deep sense of many obligations, that he did not feel himself at
liberty to refuse. Hence, there was an interval of great perplexity,
during a part of which Mr. Magee felt compelled to give way, and
arrangements were in progress for his terms at the Middle Temple.
These were intrusted to the care of Theobald Wolfe Tone, then saving
terms for himself in London, and Mr. Magee was to have been repre-
sented in the needful qualifying law dinners by Tone's brother.
Among other documents relative to this period, for which we have not
space in this memoir, we have before us an amusing letter from Wolfe
Tone himself, in which he urges the immediate remittance of a sum of
money for the purpose of lulling the vigilance, and purchasing the in-
tegrity of the cook, chief butler, and their subordinates. Happily, a
decisive obstacle frustrated the meditated course; the provost refused
his dispensation, and Mr. Magee was not unwilling to give way.
At this disappointment of a favourite wish, his uncle was at first very
indignant, but anger soon passed away from a most benevolent and
affectionate nature, and he only remained sensible of the great sac-
rifice of inclination by which his nephew had shown his readiness to
make for his pleasure.
He was ordained deacon on 25th May, 1790, in St. Kevin's church,
Dublin, by the celebrated Bishop Percy. While yet in deacon's or-
ders, he preached his first sermon in the college chapel, on the mar-
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 357
tyrdom of King Charles. At the time, as most of our readers are
likely to be aware, revolutionary opinions pervaded the world; they
were exacerbated and rendered trebly pernicious by an infidel philoso-
phy. The writings of the notorious Paine, which gave to both a cur-
rency in every dangerous channel of vulgarity, ignorance, and popular
disaffection, had been but too well received among the students, among
whom there must have been many raw and giddy spirits, alive to all
popular impressions. These impressions were rendered powerful and
seductive by the excitement of the powerful eloquence of that day,
which has not been since equalled, and which was too much qualified
by the breathings of a similar spirit. Many, indeed, of those very
men who, in some years after were to obtain a historic notoriety by
the crimes and follies in which much talent and many virtues were lost,
were then in the walls of the university, imbibing and communicating
a temper, and tendencies of intellect, foreign, indeed, from the genius
of the place, but too congenial to the feverish enthusiasm of giddy
youth. A painful sense of this hapless condition of the time, had
probably no small share in determining Mr. Magee's course: there is
no doubt that he strongly felt the call to resist it. He was grieved to
meet impiety and error in the seat of religion and learning, and eagerly
braced on his keen and shining armour for the combat. So far, in-
deed, we have his own statement before us, and only refrain from
direct quotation, because our authority is a private memorandum with
which his sermon is endorsed, and which mentions more than he
would willingly have communicated to the public. This sermon was
his first: it went boldly and with unshrinking force and directness
into the discussion of the errors and perversions of the day. We
have full means of knowing that the effects were very decided, and
that to this very sermon the public may be still said to be indebted for
some of its most valuable men. Mr. Magee was applied to by the
senior board, to publish a discourse which had made so strong and
salutary an impression. This, however, he declined. We should
add here, and it is on the best authority, that in the dreadful crisis,
when those evil impressions which soon after menaced the civil exist-
ence of the kingdom, had found their way into the very citadel of true
knowledge and virtue, Mr. Magee was eminently active and successful
in resistance, and that his exertions were unremitting, in private, to
disabuse the simple, and to convince perverted talent; and considering
the real power of the man, it is not too much to presume that he must
have saved many (of some we are aware) worthy persons from the
frightful contagion of that troubled time.
We must pass far more rapidly than we would wish over this peri-
od of our memoir. It is yet well remembered, and has often been
variously commemorated, how deservedly his uniform conduct and
ability were respected by his cotemporaries, for the remarkable union
of efficiency in the promotion of the studies, and the maintenance of
the discipline of the university, with a kindness and prompt benevo-
lence that won every heart. We have before us ample records of the
spirit and firmness with which he stood ever foremost in resisting the
encroachments and usurpations of power; and numerous witnesses yet
remain to testify to his ready support of every indication of youthful
358 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
talent. All who cultivated polite letters, earnestly looked to him, and
never looked in vain. His ready word of encouragement and assist-
ance was no less at the call of the laborious students for the fellow-
ship. His purse was open to all who required and merited pecuniary
aid. The readiness of his acquaintance to draw upon his slender
means (often curiously attested), is indeed itself such as to indicate
the kindliness of his affections. We cannot, with propriety, offer in-
stances, which might not, perhaps, be pleasing to many ; but we may
mention, that it was to Mr. Magee that the unfortunate Tone chose
to apply for aid, when pressed by difficulties in London. It should be
mentioned, that all among his cotemporaries, who have since risen to
eminence in life, were then his friends and correspondents ; and that
in all their concerns and exertions for advancement, there remain
proofs that he took part and was consulted. His apartments in col-
lege were the centre of resort to the ablest youths, afterwards the
most eminent men, in every profession. It would be great injustice
to illustrate these statements by a meagre selection from a large cor-
respondence in our possession. Time has riot yet rendered such an
illustration convenient or necessary, and we cannot here afford it. But
we may be allowed to say, that this part of his character has come to
us through the medium of the fullest light which private records and
confidential communications can afford.
While holding the office of junior dean, he was, by the combined
exertion of courage and influence, enabled to introduce a measure of
academical reform, which had till then been attempted in vain. The
students were far different from what they have since become under
the influence of an improved state of society, and an improved consti-
tution of the college itself. A low state of civilization then pervaded
every rank but the very highest; and the youth of the middle classes
came to the university with the taint of those dissipated habits and
debasing amusements which were characteristic of the period. Too old
for schoolboys, arid too immature in experience and discretion for men,
they, to a great degree, combined the levity and folly of the boy, with
the passions of the adult; and the ordinary bonds of academic dis-
cipline only served to band them together for mischief. On some of
these occasions, the energy and courage of Mr. Magee were signal-
ized. It was, it will be remembered, the day of the hard drinking
and gambling old school of country gentlemen, the bullying and swear-
ing generation whose open hospitality allowed all to enter, and none
to depart sober — whose glory and pleasure was the overflowing bowl
so often mixed with blood.* The consequence was necessarily mani-
fested in their children. The most influential part of early culture
was that infusion of the vices taught by parental example with the
help and admonition of the stable and kitchen. If the son was less
depraved than the father, his vices were professed with more zeal and
less discretion. From the insufficient yet disagreeable constraints
which accompanied the presence of their parents, or the more stringent
* We think it right to mention that we have transcribed a few sentences from
the Dublin University Magazine, without the usual marks of quotation, as both
memoirs are from the same hand.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 359
control of the public school, it was a welcome emancipation to emerge
into the comparative independence of a university. In the university,
it will at once be seen, how small an infusion of such an element must
have been enough to taint the mass, and it cannot fail to be under-
stood how difficult must have been the duty of the junior dean, and
how numerous must have been the inducements to slackness in its
performance. "What a situation this must be," writes Mr. Magee
at this time, "surrounded by eight hundred restless, and many of
them mischievous blades, continually mixing in one mass, you may
form a conjecture, but that conjecture will be far short of the reality.
I was not two days in office when I was obliged to sally out at eleven
at night, from a warm room, and under a heavy cold, to put a stop
to a battle between a party of our sanctified youths, and a body of
the police. After plunging through the dirty streets on a very wet
night for more than an hour, I raked them all into the college, some
out of the watchhouse, and some out of the kennel."* The students
were, in fact, the cream and flower of the dissolute generation which
we have faintly attempted to describe. Fully versed in the mysteries
of Bacchus and Venus, and little encumbered with any rudiments
of sager discipline; and the very restraints employed to counteract
this vicious condition of the time, in some respects served more to
aggravate it, by compressing together and giving aggregation to
the passions of youths too inexperienced for men, yet too mature for
schoolboys.
The junior fellowship has always been a post of the severest duties
which can be supposed to attach to the occupation of a seat of learn-
ing. After having mastered the entire circle of human knowledge,
the fellow is compelled to pass back into the treadmill of rudiments,
and to run an annual period of grinding the dulness of each succes-
sive race of freshmen, into a moderate intelligence; and thus during
those active and efficient years in which talent could not fail in some
degree to produce its fruits, the best men were doomed to labour on
in the beaten round, and grow unprofitably gray. Such a condition
was but ill-suited to the strenuous temper and vivid intelligence,
always prompt to grasp a wide scope of views, and by nature fertile
of projects. Though nearly from the first, Mr. Magee began to medi-
tate the extensive course of sacred literature which he afterwards ac-
complished ; yet for some years his strenuous disposition was chiefly
distinguished by the alertness and diligence which made him the
leader and main agent in the concerns of the University. The Pro-
vost was then an alien, forced on the University by a stretch of authority
exerted for the cultivation of party interests, and in entire disregard of all
other considerations. Mr. Hutchinson, on his part, looked on the
college with no parental regard; it was simply a field for the exer-
cise of an arbitrary and encroaching temper. To the fellows, he
would, if he could, have been a master; and by them, he was in turn
regarded with no kindly disposition, and little respect. He was, how-
ever, a man of talent, in favour with government, and little likely to
be wanting to himself. Between this gentleman and the junior fel-
* MS. letter.
360 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
lows, there was a frequent succession of contests. Of these, one
which occupied much of Mr. Magee's time and industry, the most
memorable was a dispute concerning the disposal of the pupils of the
outgoing fellows. On this subject, a right which till then had been
allowed to drop into deserved neglect by that gentlemanly courtesy
which has always tempered the administrative authorities of this en-
lightened corporation, was revived by the despotic self-assertion of a
Provost, who, having no feeling in common with the fellows, was
always prompt to prove his power by harsh acts. A strong sentiment
of opposition was naturally awakened among the junior fellows, who
lay most within the scope of this oppressive temper; but as ever is the
case, there was among them a reluctance to encounter the embarrassments
and risks of a contest against the odds of influence and power, a dis-
like to the labour, and a fear of the annoyances which active resist-
ance might bring with it; it is indeed an unfortunate disposition of
man's nature, that the sentiment called public spirit is rarely to be
found among the orderly and well affected, though ever alert in favour
of the evil cause; and to the reasons for this, which have been observed,
it may be added, that it is an obvious disposition of humanity that the
most vicious impulses are the most active. When good is to be done,
every one is more or less apt to feel that it is not his concern ; but
when the crowd rushes to evil, there is a sympathy of the passions ;
and it is for this reason chiefly, that while the lowest and vilest
classes are easily combined under any pretext, the high, enlightened,
and just, are but too ready to let the wrong-doer advance upon them
in a silent progress of usurpation, and sooner bear all that can be
borne than risk the penalties of contest. It is only the pervading
observation and strenuous temper of a master spirit that will scorn
an unprincipled submission to the yoke which it is virtue to resist, and
shame to bear, and in defiance of consequences, spurn aside an ignoble
rest. Such a spirit was that which it is a main object of this memoir
to commemorate; and we offer these reflections, because we would
not be so far mistaken as to have the narration of incidents so long
past, and of so little present interest, ascribed to any motive but that
of illustrating in its earliest indications the growth of the same firm
and uncompromising temper which we regard as raised up for its
purposes and time by the overruling spirit of the church, by an inter-
position as genuine though not so visible as the manifestation which
arrested the hostile enmity of St. Paul.
When any of the junior fellows died, or went out on a college liv-
ing, it had been long customary to distribute his pupils among the
remainder, according to the option of the pupils or their parents, and
this option was naturally guided by the counsel of the tutor himself,
when such could be supposed to obtain: when no such option existed,
it became the duty of the provost to assign tutors. Mr. Hutchinson
claimed the absolute right to dispose, in all cases, of the pupils : whether
such was the law, or not, is not now worth discussion — a custom had
grown up, and there can be no doubt that his motive was not to
vindicate an absolute law. Some instances of the exercise of this
harsh claim had been suffered to pass in silence — remonstrances arose,
and were roughly responded to by the trampling temper of the provost,
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D 361
when the resignation of Dr. Richard Stack, in 1791, who retired to
the living of Killileagh, left a large chamber of pupils to be disposed
of. Mr. Magee had been the favourite pupil of Dr. S., who regard-
ed him with a parental affection, which never ceased through life ;
and to him, therefore, the larger portion of his pupils was expressly
committed by the influence of the doctor. The provost peremptorily
interposed, and made a different distribution in which nearly the entire
were given to Messrs. Phibbs, Stopford, and Usher. Mr. Magee at
once determined upon trying the right; and, when upheld by his
strenuous and unyielding energy, others of the juniors agreed to resist.
But Magee was doomed to meet in succession all the penalties prepared
for those who are wiser for the public than the public for itself: to
resolve on resistance was a little thing, and all would have rejoiced
to throw off an unrighteous yoke ; but to resist, to " bell the cat,"
was a different affair: there was heavy toil to be endured, and a
dangerous enmity to be outfaced; the superior aptitude of Magee for
business, and the inward might which could, without quailing, endure
the tyrant's eye, caused the main burthen of the proceedings to be
thrown on him. It was also at an unseasonable period, while he filled
the troublesome office of junior dean. With all the vexatious cares of
this post, and the heavy labours of a tutor, he had to sustain the entire
toil of searching for the authorities and precedents upon the question,
for the preparation of cases for counsel. After an interval of labour,
which few could have endured, and fewer still accomplished within
the time, the question was brought on before the visitors in 1791. We
shall not here enter on the question, nor have we even clearly formed
an opinion; but of this we are satisfied, that it was not fairly decided
on its merits. The inquiry was brief and scornful, and the decision
hasty, peremptory, and contumelious; it was too evidently the main-
tenance which one authority is ready to offer to another in support of
a stretch of power. The provost's claim was affirmed, and the resis-
tance rebuked as insubordination. The fervent temper of Magee
was deeply mortified by the sense of injury aggravated by insult.
In this statement we have forborne, for reasons already mentioned,
from details; but we should say that our assertion of the severe and
able exertions made on the occasion by Mr. Magee, is not the result
of either mere inference, or mere authority; we have before us the
ample proofs of both, in a mass of papers compiled by his hand, from
a multitude of complicated searches and inquiries. Had not this been
the case, we should have passed the incident without notice. We
have also evidence of the stress of spirit which he laboured under
during this heavy trial, in the correspondence which remains. The
lady to whom he was then affianced, was, happily, endowed with a noble
spirit like his own, and with a degree of cultivated talent which made
her the fit confidant of his cares and anxieties : to her it was his
resource to unburden the overflow of his feelings, and to look for the
balm of sympathy. From the letters thus written, many of which are
still extant, the pure and lofty sincerity of all his conduct is beautiful-
ly revealed in the least suspicious form; and while the course of duty
involves him in the exercise of the sterner parts of his nature, a soft
and bright manifestation of the tendercst and kindliest affections is
362 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. • [SlXTH
shown with rare fulness and depth — an observation which, let us add,
applies to every period of his life, to the very close.
We must, for the present, pass some instances of the spirited and
successful efforts made by Mr. Magee to improve the discipline of the
university.* A display of more attractive qualities contributed to
make him the object of regard and affection, as the stronger quality
of respect ; his social talents, wit, the flow of thought in the most
striking language, the most kindly address, and the prompt sympa-
thy with the pain or pleasure of all whom he could esteem, rendered
him dear to his friends, and loved by those whom he controlled. He
was not one of those silent repositories of dates and titles, whose pon-
derous erudition can only, like heavy artillery, be brought out in the-
pitched battle, that requires the silence of the closet, and the shelf of
the library, to make it available. Still less was he the barren retailer
of opinions, cut and dry into shallow conundrums and deducibles.
His extensive reading had been digested and assimilated; and his
knowledge was his mind. It gushed spontaneously in his familiar
conversation, without constraint, yet free from pedantry. From this
disease of learned men, his ready tact, and the kindly promptitude of
his social temper, preserved him. The following just and discrimi-
nating sketch is from a letter written in 1791, by one who knew him
well: — "His playful liveliness and wit," writes a correspondent,
" made him the life of the company, wherever he was ; and to use the
words of one who knew and loved him, such were his moral feelings
and pure tastes, that he never uttered a jest that was not conformable
to the feelings of delicacy and religion. For this he was remarkable
in youth; and in later years, the writer has often admired the inno-
cence and simplicity of his extraordinary and agreeable wit. Dis-
posed to the utmost cheerfulness, he made others happy in his society.
He had," continues our correspondent, " a peculiar talent for making
others pleased with themselves." In common with every man of sense
and honour, he was alive not only to the interest and character of the
community of which he was a member, but he entered with warmth
and zeal into the interests of every fellow-student who came within
the range of his circle of intercourse. Among his intimate friends
were to be chiefly reckoned those whose names were afterwards best
known for any high virtues or brilliant talents. Plunket, Bushe,
Burrowes, &c., were among the most intimate. The following acci-
dental sketch, taken from one of his letters to the lady who afterwards
became his wife, may give some idea of his very considerable popular-
ity at that early period. " Just after I received your letter, I was
unlucky enough to get my leg scalded by a kettle of boiling water.
The pain of this was for some time excessive. However, when this
abated, and nothing seemed to remain but confinement for a few
weeks, I looked upon the accident as fortunate, since it gave me an
opportunity, as I thought, of employing my time as I wished, without
the interruption of business. But as soon as my misfortune became
known, my friends, both from college and town, flocked in upon me,
* A striking instance may be found in the Dublin University Magazine, already
cited, p. 487.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 363
from a compassionate wish to alleviate my sufferings; and as, like
poor Macheath, * the captain was always at home,' I was never left for
one moment to myself. My doors were obliged to be continually
open; and I went to bed every night (and not even then did my
friends leave me till a late hour), more fatigued than ever I had been
by the most laborious exercise." Between such men as Magee and
his intimates, it is interesting to think what spacious fields of thought
may have been traversed and explored in many of these sittings;
though it must also occur, how painful must have been the infliction
which he must occasionally have been forced to endure, when thus
chained down by the cruel charity of good-natured dulness !
In 1790, he had formed an acquaintance with Miss Moulson, niece
to Dr. Percival of Manchester ; and their further intimacy quickly
matured into a strong and enduring attachment. The sentiment was
peculiarly congenial to the fervid and social temper of Magee's mind.
With all his intellectual ardour, he was not one to live alone. There
was no man more fully alive to those bright and vivid influences, which
make the gay and mixed assembly so attractive in youth to every
" heart of human mould;" and amidst all the hurry of engagements
and lectures, he had been subject to a divided rule. The love of studi-
ous pursuits was disturbed by the yearnings of the affections ; and the
lights of old authority were thrown somewhat into the shade by those
more youthful and attractive lights, to which Mr. Moore attributes
properties of a very opposite nature. But the many lesser lights
were at last condensed in the one pure star which was to rule his
destiny —
" To light his home, and cheer his way."
The peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, were not such
as to admit of an immediate union with the lady of his choice. Some
time was to elapse, before the income to arise from his fellowship
could offer an adequate provision for the married state. A house, or,
at least, expensive lodgings, and a distinct establishment, must have
been indispensably requisite. At first, indeed, it was evidently (as
we can collect from his letters) his impression that the attainment of
his wishes could only be effected by the acceptance of a living ; and
for some time, it is certain, he felt himself reduced to await the fall-
ing in of a college living.. In this object he was, however, impeded
by his strong sense of what was due to the object of his affections.
He could not bear the thought of bringing her from a most respectable
and happy home, in a civilized country, into some quarter remote from
her friends, and the scene of her previous life, to the poor establish-
ment of a country parson in Ireland; and with all the impatience of
a lover, he commanded his ardour, and resolved to wait for an ade-
quate living.
During the interval of " hope deferred," thus to be understood, a
correspondence took place, of which there yet exists considerable re-
mains, and which has given us much interesting information respect-
ing the time, and still more of the persons engaged in it. From his
letters to the beloved object of his tenderest affections, we have the
most genuine and authentic proof of the real character of one whose
364) ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
severe and arduous duties, followed with unswerving perseverance,
and a firmness unequalled in modern times, have exposed to the mis-
constructions of his inveterate adversaries, and displayed to the world
only in the stern aspect of an uncompromising champion of the truth,
and a firm and strict enforcer of the discipline of the church. From these
affecting records, we learn to feel that there was no taint of the colder,
sterner, or harsher characters of humanity in the private nature of
the man, and are strongly impressed with the unequivocal manifesta-
tions of a spirit overflowing with charity and active kindliness ; and
are enabled, without room for doubt, to refer the unbending decision,
so often manifested in his public conduct, to 'his sense of duty, his
strict principle, and unflinching courage. Had he not been a Chris-
tian and a prelate, charged with awful responsibilities, and constrained
by the deep convictions of his spiritual vocation, there lay involved
in his nature the materials of a very different man, — a fiue taste, a
romantic ardour of sentiment and affection, and all the buoyant enthu-
siasm which makes the poet. These dispositions now demand much
attention from those who would form any just opinion of his character,
because, in his own time, he was placed in a wrong light. At that time,
and in this country, his adversaries would in the same spirit, and for
the same reasons, have maligned an angel of light; and in the general
spiritual deadness of the church, all strictness, and every demonstration
of spiritual zeal, was unfavourably viewed. But in this earlier stage of
his life, before his mind was placed under the strong control of severe
and difficult duty, there was an impression made in the university,
which, long after his departure, rendered him the object of affection-
ate and enthusiastic remembrance and regret, — the spirited and
intellectual companion, the champion of the common rights, the patron
and promoter of every branch of literature, and the resource of un-
successful or indigent merit. In this last mentioned character, his
purse was open, and his earnest and alert co-operation and counsel
were prompt and free. If, at an earlier period, we find the unfortu-
nate Tone drawing on his generosity, we trace him afterwards, with
steady friendship, liberally supplying the wants, and smoothening the
course of that able divine and worthy servant of God, the Rev. Wil-
liam Phelan.* But it is in his correspondence with the lady of his
choice, that his whole mind is ever poured out on all occasions without
reserve. The long wished for union at length took place, in 1793.
Every one more or less feels, what otherwise it would not be easy to
explain, the common process by which strong inclinations gradually
modify, and at length set aside, the scruples and delays of cold and
calculating prudence. In the interval, such livings as had fallen,
were not allowed to come as far as Magee, or were inadequate in
point of income. The living of Cappagh was, in fact, the only one
since 1791, when Dr. Stack had gone out on the livings of Omagh
and Killyleagh, one or both of which he exchanged for Cappagh.
But it seems probable that Magee came to the conviction that the
retention of the fellowship, while it would be little inferior in point of
* On this point, we have our information from Mr. Phelan's own correspondence
with Mr. Magee, between 1815 and 1830, in which frequent references are made
to the acts of 23 years.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 365
income, offered many advantages of not less importance. To Magee,
as well as to his affianced bride — a woman of considerable talents and
attainments — the refined and civilized circle of the university and the
metropolis, was more than wealth could otherwise compensate. There
was also evidently a fairer scope for the hopes of future distinction,
which could not be wanting to a man like Magee. The college sta-
tutes alone presented an obstacle to the marriage of its fellows ; but a
rule so little conformable with human nature, or the principles of
Christianity, had long become inoperative. All circumstances tended
to recommend and favour this union, so long desired, and so essential
to the happiness of one so alive to the power and influence of the social
affections. Rarely, indeed, can there be found authentic memorials in
the records of biography of a union of minds so harmonious and well
assorted, and never of one more productive of the purest felicity to
be expected in any condition of humanity. Mrs. Magee was a woman
of the strongest and soundest understanding, and the most spiritual
piety, fully capable of entering into the numerous and pressing cares
which so often agitated and harassed the mind of her husband ; she
was a sympathizing companion, on whose tenderness he could rest,
when harassed and disturbed, and with whom he could take counsel
in many trials. In those concerns of ministerial duty, which can be
so effectually promoted by Christian zeal, and which require but the
application of knowledge and practical intelligence, Mrs. Magee dis-
played a pre-eminent example, and was to her husband a most efficient
helpmate. Entering with an earnest devotion into the welfare of the
Irish church, her mind went wholly with his; arid some writings of
no small ability remain in print and manuscript to attest her merit in
this respect.
Among the various transactions in which our documentary materials
afford recollections of the college life of Magee, the university elec-
tions hold a prominent place. On these occasions he always took a
very prominent part; and, so far as we can judge, he appears to have
been remarkably efficient. His politics, at that period, were, in the
main, those of a constitutional whig; but in some degree affected by
3ertain opinions, over which the events of after years have, at least,
thrown much doubt. These were, however, the opinions of the ablest
men of that day — well warranted by the condition, aspect, and lights
of the time — on points involved in workings on which time only could
throw clearer light. In our memoirs of Bushe and Saurin, we have al-
ready dwelt on this consideration, still, perhaps, imperfectly understood.
With these, and other illustrious men, Magee saw the immediate ill-
consequences of the Union, together with the corruption exercised to
effect that measure: in common with them, he saw no farther. Time,
which has withdrawn the curtain from nearly half-a-century of years, has
not yet disclosed the event. Where statesmen were thus perplexed —
divines and scholars had no claim to be infallible. An unsettled
science, of which the very difficulties are concealed from ordinary
sight, is not, indeed, sufficiently recognised by those who are quick
to judge of the opinions and changes of opinion in public men. Mr.
Magee then thought, felt, and acted with some of the best and ablest,
leading men of the day. Whatever may have been the political
366 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
acumen and feeling of Magee, he was governed by a knowledge, and
by feelings higher still — he was the servant of God, and knew that
his duties admitted of no compromise with earthly interests. He
soon perceived the infidel tone of opinion and temper, which was then
taking a permanent hold of the spirit of the whigs; and became sen-
sible that, in the broad scope of their rapidly expanding liberalism,
there was included a growing contempt for the restraints and imposi-
tions of Christian truth. He could not continue to walk with the
enemies of God, though they clothed themselves with the splendid
pretensions of patriotism and liberty, and talked with lofty scorn of
prejudice and bigotry. But, feeling like the inspired poet, " I had
rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than dwell in the tents
of wickedness," he soon took his part, as many others have done, and
ruled his course by the adoption of the principle, that no considera-
tion of policy, and no regard to the claims of parties, or of individu-
als, can be for an instant weighed against the very least claim of the
paramount and supreme declarations of divine revelation. His con-
duct has been in this fully justified by events — an attack on the church
of Christ was even then developing and maturing, and has since been
(for wise ends) allowed to shake it to its foundations. In the same
proportion as his views of divine truth became more fixed and clear,
they became more and more his regulating principle and actuating
motive ; and without any formal breach of unity, or any essential dimi-
nution of kindliness, he began insensibly to walk apart from his ear-
lier associates, with whom he began to feel that he had little in com-
mon. And as literary attainment, and the endowments which confer
intellectual distinction, had, in earlier years, marked the circle of his
intercourse, so now he began to find his proper level to be among the
sober-minded, the faithful, and the loyally affected to God and his
church. And we cannot here too emphatically impress the fact, that
we do not describe the solitary course of an individual. It was in the
beginning of that general movement of the same nature, which we have
endeavoured to explain in a former volume, and which was the operation
by which the tory party obtained, soon after, that great preponderance
of power, with the loss of which it is now menaced from the reversed
action of the very same principle. We should, indeed, be neglectful
of the important lessons which it is the part of the historian to im-
press, if we should fail to notice, that the sounder portion of a Chris-
tian community will not follow their leaders in a direct assault upon
the outworks of the church, even though they should be brought to
concur in the wisdom of the secular policy, which would abandon all
they know to be sacred, for advantages to the state, were these even
less doubtful than the results of such policy ever must be. And hence
it is that, in the present day, a great church party, independent both
of whig and tory, may be looked for. When such shall be formed, it
will combine the best mind of both. At that period, there was a very
rapid and energetic succession of public indications of those great
party evolutions and developments, which have since been so productive
of change. Then, as since, there were fair professions and legitimate
aims pleaded for every demonstration ; but these could only impose on
the crowd. To men like Magee, it soon became apparent that courses
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. SC7
were adopted which, looking to all historic precedent, must lead to
results beyond the professed aim of the parties : that the cry for
liberty must swell into the clamour of license — that the petition for
equality, (on unequal terms,) must rise into the fierce requisition for
ascendency — that the concession to all religions would become, in
time, the implication of no religion. Magee saw all this, and has
been justified by the event. He ceased to be a whig, that he might
become the most able, firm, and efficient champion of the church.
He soon obtained great distinction as a preacher; and as he was
frequently engaged for charity sermons, considerably before he was
known as a theologian, his eloquence became the object of general at-
traction. On these occasions, the collection was fully answerable to the
powers of the preacher ; and though he did not avail himself of the
theatrical resources, then so fashionable and so effective in the pulpit,
or come forward attired in the feathers of Massillon and Bourdalone,
yet he did not fall short of the highest success then attainable. The
plain and simple energy of his delivery was well adapted to a style at
the same time vigorous and refined ; and it is no small test of power,
that he made his debut at a time when the public had acquired a strong
taste for the sounding periods, the soaring flights, the epigrammatic
point, and all the elaborate rhetorical artifice of the schools of Grattan
and Kirwan. With far more rhetorical skill than either, Magee did
not then avail himself of it, but enforced the practice and doctrine
of the gospel with a strong and feeling simplicity, far more adapted to
its purport, and the serious and awful realities which it involves. We
have already, in these volumes, spoken of the great pulpit orator of
that time ; some remarks on the same topic will offer an advantageous
view of Magee. The style of Kirwan was like the popular oratory
of the Irish parliament, in a high degree ornamental and dramatic.
That of Magee had a power resulting from an opposite cause ; it was
the language and manner of a mind framed for the investigation of
truth and the communication of knowledge. Hence, however rich
might be the turn of his phraseology, it carried no semblance of work-
ing up for effect; it was pre-eminently the style of what Johnson calls
" a full man," — a style too rapid, with a flow of matter too solid and
copious to stop for the dallyings of mere art. He possessed that gift,
which is the least common, and most effective in public speaking — the
power of conveying the sense or sentiment to be impressed upon the
nearer, without diverting the attention to the manner or to the speaker.
He carried with him the faculties, and conducted them to the desired re-
sult. These observations are in part the result of the perusal of mumer-
ous manuscript remains, — in part of our recollection of the man in latter
periods. But we have before us many authentic records of the actual
fruit of several of his numerous sermons for public charities, and the
strong public testimony of gratitude they obtained. His sermon, in
1802, for the Female Orphan House, brought ,£702 to the charity, and
others not less ; and we possess a large mass of written proofs that his
aid was very much looked for on all such occasions.
Of the preaching of the time, we shall speak when we come to
view the general state of the church in the beginning of his career.
But we are now to relate the main occurrences of his history as a
368 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
theologian. He soon began to gain a higher and more durable repu-
tation than popular eloquence, even in the pulpit, can earn. Some
time in 1795, he was appointed Donellan lecturer for the year. His
attention became in consequence attracted by a subject which has
frequently won the attention of the ablest divines and historical anti-
quaries. Having arrived, in the course of his studies, at some peculiar
views upon Daniel's prophecy of the Messiah's coming, he was thereby
led to a revision of the entire course of the prophecies of the same
event, from the earliest intimation to the first parents of mankind, to
the last of the prophets. On this most important and interesting sub-
ject, he preached, in different years, twenty- two discourses, of which
the fame was soon spread abroad in both countries, and the publica-
tion was anxiously looked for. But while engaged in preparing them
for the press, his attention was called aside by the impulse which the
Socinian heresy had then recently received in England. This impulse
was mainly due to the revolutionary opinions propagated by the same
writers. Rash and daring speculations in religion, came aptly from
the same fierce temper of insubordination and lawlessness, which had
generated an infidel philosophy, and a bloody spirit of clubbism in
Paris, and which did not fail to find its place and fit level in the
British isles. Socinianism received currency from a combination
eminently characteristic of the common rejection of rule, authority,
and principle. The extraordinary zeal and industry with which
these notions were propagated, and the talent engaged in their per-
nicious dissemination, called for unusual promptitude and more than
ordinary power to resist. It has ever been the order of Providence
that such should not be wanting : and it is worthy of the most honourable
record, that it was the University of Dublin which thus gave to the
cause of truth, a champion, of whom it is not too much to say, that
he stands unequalled in modern times. The Donellan lectures were
laid aside, and two sermons on the doctrine of the atonement preached
in the College Chapel. They were published in 1801. While they
passed through the press, Dr. Magee began to feel that the mere
affirmation and proof of truth was not of itself sufficient to meet the
effective demand of the time. All the arts of misrepresentation and
fallacy had been exhausted, and the poison had been presented in
every insidious disguise. He saw that a far more extensive treatment
was required, and that the enemy should be met on his own ground.
With this view, he postponed the publication, until he rapidly poured
forth that copious mass of profound learning, criticism, and refutation,
now in the hands of every theologian, and of most educated readers. A
work, which is scarcely more eminent for its triumphant success in the
great argument against the Unitarians of every sect, than for the
standard of method and style it may afford to the studious, and the
illustration it gives of the real resources of language as an instrument
of reason. It may perhaps surprise many, who have reflected with
wonder and admiration upon the industry and copiousness of this
work, to learn, that nearly as much more remains unpublished, but
written out in a clear hand for the press. Of the Donellan lectures,
which he never was permitted to give to the world, we shall, if space
permit, offer some account at the close of this memoir.
PJJKIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. 369
Iii 1797, he was compelled to leave Dublin, by the attack of a ten-
dency of blood to the head. This tendency was perhaps constitu-
tional, but aggravated by his habits of severe application. The advice
of his friend, Dr. Plunket, caused him to take a house and small
farm within five miles of Dublin. From this, he came daily to his
academic duties at an early hour, and returned late at night ; and as
the routine of his avocatio*ns as a junior fellow left no pause for study,
he sought to repair this want by giving ^ip a considerable portion of
the night to his favourite studies. It was mostly between two and
three hours after midnight, when he had " outwatched the Bear,"
that he retired, worn out, to his bed, from which he was to rise before
five in the morning, to his daily round of labour. Such a course
would have been too much for stronger men; but there is a more per-
manent and elastic vigour in an active spirit, which, in him, seems
long to have resisted the wear of so much strenuous and continued
exertion. We have the best authority for saying that during the
period of restless exertion thus described, no marks were to be detected,
either in the intercourse of society or of business, of this wearing
course of labour: in the family circle, his conversation was animated
and overflowing with innocent pleasantry, which relieved and light-
ened serious but not severe instruction. Full of curious information,
and prompt to communicate, he had singularly the gift of winning
and eliciting the fire of youthful minds. It was, at this period of our
history, his custom to take a strong cup of tea; and then, after family
prayer — the appropriate close of a Christian's family evening — he
retired to his studious vigil.
In this retreat, during some years, his father lived just near him, and
gave useful aid and advice in his farming concerns. In 1799, he was
deprived of this valuable and worthy parent by death. He had the
consolation of recollecting that he had done all that the most untiring
affection and duty could effect to shed comfort upon his declining years ;
and it was the well-known expression of this parent, that the attention
and tenderness of his son appeared to him " almost supernatural."
In the mean time, the ordinary events of time brought him nearer
to the head of the junior list of fellows, and during the later years of
the century, the rotation became more than usually rapid. In 1800,
he became a senior fellow, and was appointed to the professorship of
mathematics. We have not had the good fortune to obtain his mathe-
matical remains; but from numerous passages in his correspondence
with Dr. Hales, and other eminent college men, as well as from the
recollection which we yet retain of his own character as a professor,
we have no doubt in saying that in this department of his duties he
was distinguished by superior efficiency. It must be remembered that
his mind was otherwise tasked to an extent beyond the powers of most
men ; that the routine of academic duties, up to the time of his appoint-
ment, left no room for the comprehensive range of study requisite for
so many and such severe pursuits; and that the state of mathematical
science was then but low in the universities of both parts of the kingdom.
Still, from various sources, we learn that Magee had already entered
upon the field of research, and begun to discover new methods, and
point the way to that new and brilliant course of improvement, after-
VOL. vi. 2 A
370 ECCLESIASTICAL SEKIKS. [SiXTH
wards effected by succeeding professors. Mathematical science, then, as
since, has ever held the chief place in the election of the Fellows; and
was always cultivated in the university with industry, and with such
success as, under the circumstances, was possible. If the form in
which the science was then studied, was far less adapted for investi-
gation, we are inclined, notwithstanding the violent reclamations of
Dr. Lardner, to insist that it was more fitted for the discipline and
trial of the higher intellectual powers, than the more comprehensive
but more technical methods of modern analytical science.* The pre-
paration for fellowship examinations, now began to occupy a consid-
erable portion of his valuable time, and materially interfered to inter-
rupt and postpone the labour required for the preparation of the sub-
sequent editions of the "Atonement" and the Donellan lectures. His
amazing activity of mind, nevertheless, continued still to accumulate
for both; and he, doubtless, looked forward to a period of leisure
which never came. The most elaborate, and not the least important
of his writings are yet in manuscript, and this to an amount far ex-
ceeding that of his published works. The discourse on the seventy
weeks, had, as we have said, begun to raise much expectation, and
had been read in MS. by several eminent divines. We give one letter,
written about this time, by the bishop of Connor, as it conveys the im-
pression of a respectable biblical scholar : —
DEAR MAGKE, — I am to return you many thanks for the pleasure
and information which I have derived from your very excellent ser-
mon on the seventy weeks. It has given me that satisfaction which
no interpretation that I had ever before seen has afforded me — not
even that ingenious one to which you have so handsomely alluded,
and which I have read over with yours. The original will certainly
bear out your translation (punctis deletis) ; and one wonders that it did
not occur to some of those who reject the points, or to some of those
great men who went before you; but this confirms me in the opinion
which I have long entertained, that the S.S. would, to the end of time,
afford matter for investigation, and that they were not intended by
Providence to be fully comprehended in any one age, though holding
* We know not whether any one may still be inclined to quarrel with this state-
ment. It was not long since the question was discussed with more heat than ac-
curacy. A prolix demonstration may be deficient in that generality of application
which constitutes the main distinction of modern science, yet be more adapted to
call forth superior powers of attention, comparison, and combination ; but, what
is more important to observe, it is more sure to be thoroughly understood; for
this thorough understanding is, in such demonstrations, an essential part of the
progress of the learner — a condition by no means equally required in those me-
thods which have abridged and simplified demonstration into processes so uniform
and comprehensive, as to bear to the former methods nearly the same relation as
the introduction of steam machinery to manual skill. In such abridgments of rea-
soning, it is easy to understand to what an extent a superficial understanding can
go in remembering formulae, and executing easy operations, without any adequate
possession of their elementary foundation ; and such, accordingly, is the fact to a
great extent. These remarks can only apply to inferior men, but they are man-
kind. Such men as Lloyd, M'Cullagh, and Hamilton, would be at the head in
either method. Any one who wishes to follow out this consideration, may amuse
himself by comparing the easy use and difficult discussion of imaginary quantities,
of the negative sign, or of the elementary metaphysics of the calculus.
PKRIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. ' 371
forth to every age sufficient light .and information. Give your intcr-
5 rotation to the public as soon as you can, and I will venture to pre-
ict that it will meet with universal approbation.
" I return the sermon. — Yours, &c.,
"J. CONNOR."
It was in 1802 that he preached his well-known sermon on the death
of lord Clare. It was immediately published, and attracted very great
notice. In one of the notes there occurred a comparison between that
great man and his no less eminent cotemporary, Mr. Grattan, in their
competition for collegiate honours, during the undergraduate course,
when they were class-fellows in the university. The note drew forth a
most unjust, illiberal, and absurd attack, which was productive of that
annoyance to his feelings, which such attacks, notwithstanding the
baseness of their source, and the little effect they mostly produce, have
power to communicate to those who least deserve them. It is, indeed,
a curious matter of reflection, how the mere circumstance of being
anonymous, seems to give some mysterious authority to the dicta of
the most shallow and insignificant fool — how absurdities, which no one
would heed if vented with the name of their author, grow oracular to
the public ear, when they come from the authoritative secrecy of the
press. A feeling and able letter to his friend, Mr. Plunket, expressed
the high feelings of Magee, and did full justice to the illustrious person
whom he was accused of treating with slight.
The contracted space of this memoir must prevent our dwelling
upon the lesser events of this interval of his life. It may be mentioned
generally, that, independently of his severe labours as a professor, and
still more arduous researches as a diligent student of the comprehen-
sive and perplexed subject of which he was engaged in the pursuit, he
was also engaged in a very extensive correspondence, which included
every eminent scholar in the kingdom, and nearly every one who was
distinguished for piety or talent. With his old tutor, Dr. Richard
Stack, a man of great learning and ability, he maintained a commerce
of affection and kindness, of which it is gratifying and affecting to read
the remains. The letters of this worthy old man testify the exceed-
ing activity of Magee in serving the interests of his friends, and the
reliance which was placed on his goodness and efficiency by those who
knew him best. With Dr. Hales of Killeshandra, his correspondence
is also full of lively interest, from the nature of the topics discussed,
and the manner of discussion on both sides. In brief, Magee's opi-
nion was freely sought, and freely given, on every point of importance
or difficulty which arose among those who, in either country, were
engaged in any investigation connected with theological literature.
The free and masterly outpouring, and facile digestion and combina-
tion of his vast treasures, of every branch of literature, is one of the
most striking and characteristic qualities manifested in his letters,
his conversation, and in the numberless notes and memoranda which
lie heaped among his papers, as well as in his published writings. On
this point a mistake has been made, which we should not think it
necessary to notice, but for the respect we bear for the ability and
general fairness of the writer. Mr. Dalton, in the brief sketch which
he has given of the archbishop, observes of his work on the atone-
372 "ECCLESIASTICAL HER IKS. [SIXTH
ment, that it shows " more erudition than genius." We shall not stay
to consider how far the term "genius" is precisely applicable to works
involving no invention; but few men ought to be better aware than
Mr. Dalton of the compass of conception, the strenuous reason, the
keen perceptions, the clear recollections, and the sound and spacious
range of comparison, which are required to work together, into a clear
and orderly statement, the materials drawn from such a scattered and
recondite mass of authorities, as the archbishop's work has involved.
This is true, if there were nothing further to be said: it applies to
those studies in which Mr. Dalton is himself no inferior authority. But
the work upon the atonement is not a digest of learned authorities; nor
is it even merely an investigation of a question to be decided by the
preponderance of those authorities. It is the profound discussion of a
controverted point, in which he not only investigates the theory of the
atonement and its authorities, but hunts the adversaries of this funda-
mental truth of the scheme of redemption through a thousand dis-
guises and evasions; in the course of which, every form of subtlety
which ever has been used in support of error, whether of metaphysical re-
fining, grammatical misconstruction, equivocation of language, or confu-
sion of authorities, are followed out with a degree of dexterity, ease,
and perspicuity, which at every step amaze the reader. The arch-
bishop's fancy, argument, and graceful eloquence, move on under
this load of matter, and this exertion of the utmost powers of reason,
as freely as if it were the flow of voluntary thought, the suggestion
of the moment; and convey the notion of high intellectual power
sporting with gigantic ease under the cumbrous load of libraries.
We are not, indeed, quite sure of the validity of the metaphysical
distinction which would separate such results of mental power from
those lofty walks of invention to which it has been usual to apply
the name of genius. The results are unquestionably different; but
looking simply to the operation, or rather the mode of operation, it
may perhaps appear, on attentive consideration, that the only real dif-
ference is to be found in the subject matter and result. Whether the
poet, whose range is nature, "bodies out the form of living things;"
or the speculative philosopher shapes systems ; or the practical inquirer
into the truth and value of opinions and authorities — is to be thus
tested : so long as the range of the mind is confined to real existence,
or to notions which have any local habitation or name in books, or in
any sphere of known or supposed existence — the operation of thought
which searches, compares, and combines, is intrinsically the same.
The taste may be various; the temper and tone of sentiment may
vary ; nor can we call the glance that ranges from the frozen pole to
the Hesperides, and that which comprehends Newton with Aristotle,
commensurable in effect ; but reason is the same, however confused
and hidden under the colour and form of results. We did not appre-
hend that we should be led away so far, and must extricate our pen
from metaphysics by cutting short the argument. But we have,
perhaps, not insufficiently explained why we think that the real genius
of those whose powers have rather been devoted to the interest of
truth than to the fabrication of inventions, or the mere display -of in-
tellectual resource is somewhat underrated. If the wit, the logical
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 373
expertness and tact, the admirable mastery over both the powers and
the rhythm of language, did not satisfy us of the easy freedom with
which the writer of the work on the atonement uses its deep treasures
of learning, we should feel convinced by the not less voluminous mass
of comments and references, thrown with vast and careless profusion
through a multifarious mass of papers, never designed for any purpose,
but to record the passing reflection. And further, as we have fol-
lowed this topic so far, we may add that, to any one looking over the
entire of these papers, and reflecting on the several unpublished works
prepared, or nearly prepared for the press, together with the un-
ceasing round of duties which filled every portion of the author's life,
it becomes a matter of difficulty to understand, at what intervals of a
busy life, so much can have been acquired, and so much embodied into
form.
Meanwhile, the great work to which he owed so much of his reputa-
tion, had been circulated far and wide, and attracted universal no-
tice. In the church it had been received with one feeling of approval
and admiration, and repeated editions were called for. A considera-
tion of a personal nature, having regard to the dedication, and to
which we do not wish further to advert, retarded, and ultimately pre-
vented the appearance of a sixth edition, so that this valuable work
had become scarce, when a people's edition was published in 1841.
One honourable public testimony to the efficient value of this great
work was given in 1813, by the application which he received from the
Glasgow Religious Tract Society, for permission to print some portion
of this work in a separate form, for the counteraction of the Socinian
heresy, which had been for a time much on the increase in that quar-
ter. The permission was of course given freely, and he afterwards
received strong testimonies of the effectual working of this publi-
cation.
Among the many demands upon his time and active energies, the
college elections engrossed no small part. He had, in all his engage-
ments, uniformly maintained a strict understanding with whatever
candidate he supported, that he should be regarded as free to support
Mr. Plunket, should he become a candidate. Mr. Plunket does not
appear, by the college calendar, or by the published reports of the
elections, to have stood for the college before 1807, though in some
MS. memoranda we find it so set down ; but there is no doubt that
in 1803 Dr. Magee was, with Mr. Plunket, on a tour of investigation
for precedents in the English universities on the subject of elections,
with a view to contest the election of Mr. Knox. This gentleman had
represented the University before the Union, and was, at the occur-
rence of this event, appointed by a provision of the act. He was re-
elected in 1803, and succeeded, in 1807, by Mr. Leslie Foster, who
was, in 1812, succeeded by Mr. Plunket. The most immediately im-
portant incident in this tour, was the honourable reception of Dr.
Magee at Oxford and Cambridge, as well as from the most emi-
nent among the English divines and scholars. We also find, in a
minute, but somewhat hasty collection of memoranda, curious evidence
of the rapid and accurate observation of the writer, which seems to
have comprehended every object worthy of notice, whether for utility
374 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
or ornament, with a rapid intelligence, and fine eye for picturesque
effect. In looking over the memorials of this and other such excur-
sions, we are often led to regret, that we cannot afford to offer many
affecting proofs of the steady supremacy in his breast of an affection,
which might, but for its permanence, be called enthusiasm. The fol-
lowing was written on the seventh anniversary of his marriage : —
" On this day, which more particularly reminds me of that which
constitutes the greatest blessing of my life, accept these few hurried
lines, and the trifle which accompanies them, as a memorandum for
some future day, that the seventh birth-day which my beloved wife
has seen since her fate and mine have been united, has found her the
object of the undiminished affection of a fond and admiring husband ;
that it has returned to witness on her part, an unabated tenderness,
with an unwearied indulgence to his many failings ; and on his, the
most grateful sensibility to her goodness, the most sincere respect for
her many estimable virtues, and the most ardent desire to promote
her happiness as the only foundation of his own," &c.
Such is the tone of all his private letters, the frank overflow of a fer-
vent nature ; we do not remark it for style or sentiment ; but a life
given, to high and stern duties, requires the justice of some illustration of
the softer qualities which adorned his private life ; and which most
affectingly appears though all that remains of the occasional corre-
spondence which occurs through the entire life of his truly admir-
able wife. A deep and pervading tenderness, so consistent and uni-
form as to leave no room for the assumption of variability, or the
formalism of good-natured courtesy, or any of those ready construc-
tions which the world, not without grounds, is apt to put upon the
professions of sentiment. The bond of matrimony may, and often is,
we cannot doubt, softened by a cheap substitution of courtesy ; but to
the demonstrations of this, there are also obvious limits, beyond. which
deception would be vain, and too cumbersome for endurance. The
ardent and solicitous affection which adorned every part of the lives
of those among whom Dr. and Mrs. Magee were pre-eminent exam-
ples, admits of no qualification for the weakness or selfishness of our
nature. In love, unlike many other valuable things, the quality must
increase with the quantity. It derives new splendour and purity from
the goodness and genius of the minds in which it dwells ; and, let us
add, that where it is to be so ascertained, in minds of such power and
attainment as those with whom we are here concerned, it is the surest
indication of all the more exalted virtues. This is a moral law of
nature; but it is revealed as the eternal law of the soul's immortality,
— the gift which " never faileth."
In 1812, the death of Dr. Richard Stack occurred. It cannot be
doubted that Dr. Magee must have been for some time anxiously look-
ing out for a retreat from the varied occupations attendant on a college
life ; and the occasion which this offered, could not be well allowed to
pass. His family had increased, so as to render the step desirable ;
there was a hope that he might thus be enabled to forward the im-
portant works to which he stood so strongly pledged ; but, above all,
he felt that there was an important call for his service in the active
ministration of the church. Indeed, of such a man, we may, without
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 375
hesitation say, it was so ordered. He took the vacant livings of Killy-
leagh and Cappagh, and entered on arrangements to remove to the
latter place.
Dr. Magee entered on his pastoral duties with a degree of energy
and zeal, which demands to be fully apprehended both with regard
to the time and the man ; and we shall take this place to offer a brief
sketch of the state of the parochial clergy at that period, not only be-
cause it more fully illustrates the conduct of Dr. Magee, but is the
meet preliminary towards the right understanding of his episcopal
administration.
If the word meritorious could ever be applied to any body of men,
we believe it will now be admitted, by foe as well as friend, that it is
to the clergy oT the established church in Ireland. For patience in
adversity, and in the endurance of many trials — for the absence of all
animosity towards their low calumniators, or their powerful enemies
in high places — for soberness and firmness amid the pressure of subtle
heresies without, and indiscreet zeal within — for a perseverance in
charity which has at last subdued ill-will — for Christian humility —
for thorough faithfulness and unremitting zeal in the following and
the work as labourers in the vineyard of their only Master and Head,
— in no place, and at no time, have they been excelled, if ever from
the first they have been equalled. Looking to such men and to their
deeds, which however little in the scale of perfect holiness, are great
in human comparison, it may not appear now high praise to depict
the conduct of a devoted and faithful pastor in a different period. But
we have to show the reverse of the medal. It has, as all must know,
pleased the sovereign will, that at various times the church should pass
through seasons of darkness ; and such, assuredly, was the interval of
time now to be reviewed.
A light breeze had recently sprung up amidst the general stagnation
of the church in Ireland. Peter Roe, and J. B. Matthias, names of
small significance in the records of the world, but more enduring than
those of kings, conquerors, and statesmen, in the memorials of heaven ;
these truly good and great children of God, and faithful servants of
the Lord, had each called forth a circle of spiritual life round their
places of ministration ; but all the rest was yet concealed in the
depths of darkest secularity. A low state of moraLs, arising from a
low state of religion, by the natural reaction of effects, created a
(shelter for ministerial unfaithfulness. In the eye of the world, there
was no reproof for any vice ; and it appeared more honourable for a
Christian teacher to neglect than to perform his duty. The stream
was poisoned at the fountain-head. The teaching of the Scripture
was either wholly set aside, or simply adverted to as the foundation
of a prudential system of ethics ; or of the philosophical casuistry, cold,
impractical, and erroneous, which filled the ears of the church-going
crowd with unprofitable sound. It was usual for the rhetorician to
appeal to the passions and the moral sentiments ; the subtle reverted
to theories of fitness, or deduced from afar the results of good and
evil ; the practical common sense of the many, inculcated the home-
lier, but far truer, maxims of the vulgar, and instilled the prudence
and practical advantage or detriment of vice or virtue. The only
376 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
real foundation in the revealed word, was shuffled off at the end of the
discourse in a single sentence of formal recognition. Such teaching
was an essential result of a period of the most dissolute morals, when
every vice was so broadly matted and engrained in the entire texture
of the public mind, that the very name of sin, or any, the most remote
allusion, to a purer ground of action, carried a ludicrous impression to
the ear — " cant," or " swaddling," or " fanaticism," or of extravagance
too remote from humanity to be worthy of a serious thought. It was
easy to feel that the utmost enforcement of abstract ethics, or prudential
morality, imposed no chain, and conveyed no real reproof; and, as
well might be anticipated in such a state of things, the preacher but
too commonly took a perverted pride in showing that he was no strait-
laced slave to the dull formalities of an office held in no very high
respect by his associates. Like the prior of Jorvaulx, he could wind
the horn, and drain the bowl ; the parson's tale and song were not
among the dullest in the merry ring ; and he could not, for very shame,
censure too effectually in the pulpit, what he practised in the ways of
life — ways, far, indeed, from the " narrow way" described by the Mas-
ter whom he little served.
To the reproach involved in these strictures, there were honourable
exceptions, but they were much confined ; being the result either of
individual character, or of local influences mostly arising from the con-
trol of individuals. And more strongly to indicate the actual nature,
and illustrate the reality of this unhappy condition of things, we may
call the attention of many of our readers to a nearly similar state of
religion, which, not many years ago, not very honourably distinguished
the church in England from that in this country. In a country so
highly civilized, it would be expected, as a matter of course, that the
rules of Christian morality, and the outward forms of the church,
would be treated with more respect, and so, no doubt it was ; but in
all that related to the teaching of divine truth, in its proper and im-
mediate intent as the way of salvation, it was widely different. Many
years had already elapsed from the spiritual reformation of the Irish
church, when the ethical theories of the Stoics and Epicureans still
sounded in the English pulpit, with a formal recognition of the gospel
lamely hobbling in at the conclusion ; while in Ireland it would have been
hard, indeed, to walk at hazard into a church in town or rural parish,
without hearing the word of life eternal, in its whole extent, unreservedly
and earnestly put forward. And, hence, if we may so far digress, has
arisen the leprosy of superstitious formalism, which a great and vene-
rable university is now, we trust, casting from its bosom.* Such was
* It would be a betrayal of our duty to let this occasion pass, without remark-
ing on the momentous universal principle of the tractarian departure. It is but
a strong case of that working of sin, which has never ceased from the dawn of
time ; the origin of paganism, and of all forms of idolatry. The universal sense
of the want of some religion, and the greater or less belief in some portion of ele-
mentary truth, together with the inborn repugnance to a spiritual renunciation of
sin in its varied forms, naturally gives birth to a spirit of compromise. Some
would shelter themselves under the mild rule of " king log" — some would mystify
the cold and severe-seeming truth with Platonism — some would shelter a worldly
temper in the mock-spirituality of formalism. The pride of learning — the desires
of the flesh — the dexterous union of God and mammon, will ever be sought by
some outlet from the pure, chaste, humble, and sober-minded sway of Christ.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 377
the general condition of our church at the time when Dr. Magee began
first anxiously to contemplate the undertaking of entering upon the
scene where labourers were so much wanting. His mind had been itself
for some time growing into a purer feeling of his responsibility as an
ordained teacher of the word. So far as the college was concerned,
there were others he knew adequate to the work of spiritual education,
but the church was in want of faithful servants. This view is supported
by the fact that, in 1811, he had been for some time on the look out for
a living, where he might commence the energetic course which we know
him to have soon after, on the first opportunity, to have had recourse
to. Reluctant to await the fall of a college living, he had applied to
government, but was discountenanced on the professed score of his sup-
port of Mr. Plunket in the college : this, at least, was the reason inti-
mated to his friends by Mr. Foster. Another reason is likely to have
been the uncompromising temper he had shown, on several occasions, in
censuring and denouncing the court profligacy of the day. We shall
exemplify this farther on. But, as we have stated, the incumbencies of
Cappagh and Killyleagh fell vacant in 1812, and he availed himself of
the opportunity. The faculty for these livings bears date September
23, 1812.
He went, with his family, to reside at Cappagh, in the diocese of
Derry ; and here we first find him, from the very outset, entering on
the fullest discharge of his ministerial offices and duties, with a zeal
and wholeness of mind, a preparation and efficiency, such as manifestly
to confirm our foregoing statement, that it had long been the subject of
his earnest thoughts. The pride of scholarship — its ardent curiosity in
research — the habits it so often creates — the communications of mind it
looks for, and mostly finds, all combine to present a widely different
range from that offered to administer of the gospel. He has, at all times,
to bring down his mind to the level of the lowliest tempers and intellects.
He had then to enter into collision with the most unspiritual disposi-
tions ; to outface the insolence of carnal pride and reckless folly ; and,
in the accomplishment of such an office, Dr. Magee presented a most
illustrious model of the conduct which he was soon after called to enforce
in the church.
At Cappagh, he entered, as we have said, on a diligent and laborious
round of ministerial service. The parochial schools obtained his daily
supervision, and in their care, he also engaged the interest and assistance
of his own family. Above all, he was strict in enforcing a due and
uncompromising observance of the main principle upon which the entire
value of education depends — the vital and essential instruction in the
Scriptures. He clid not allow of the erroneous notion, which, since his
time, has been so largely received — that education, under any condition,
would tend to ameliorate the condition of the poor. He did not fall into
the absurdity of imagining that a smattering of vulgar books, and popu-
lar publications, must needs do for the labouring poor what they have
never done for the political agitators and theorists — conduct them to
saving truth, or even secular wisdom. He knew that the few years
which the labourer can give to learning, ought to have no serious object
but that of inculcating, at an early period, the principle which should
govern his life aright, and keep him in the way of salvation ; and that
378 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
if this is not obtained, all he acquires is a more ready introduction to
the pernicious rubbish of lewdness and disloyalty, and' to the antisocial
theories, so industriously dressed for all tastes, and circulated with such
activity. Dr. Magee knew that the " thousand ways of error," are too
thickly spread on every side, for education — without the guidance of
Divine truth — to lead any way but into aggravated error ; and, as we
have been led so far into reflection on the subject, we may observe the
error of many in the present day, who, while they fully admit the true
end of popular education, are yet under the delusive impression, that an
unscriptural education ought still to be supported, as better than none.
A slight further development of the foregoing remarks, would easily
dissipate such a notion ; and as the subject is now grown paramountly
important, we beg to add one remark on the merely political view of it.
The introduction of education into any locality, ought to be preceded by
other improvements, to make it of any advantage beyond those which
are spiritual. The first steps of civilization do not proceed from books
and tracts, but from those elementary processes which increase the com-
forts, and give regularity and security to the industry and earnings of
the people — a taste for the decencies of life — a desire for a settled state
of things — and a competent possession of the first necessities of food,
clothing, with the full protection and security in the pursuit of their
lawful calling ; these are preliminaries independent of education, and
essential to it. However he may have been taught in rudiments, a
pauper has, from the moment he leaves school, no more to do with learn-
ing ; and if he has not brought with him the one only light which can
enlighten humanity, he has nothing but a little more aptness to receive
the wicked fallacies which form the entire staple of party agitation,
at all times, and in all places. It is plain, that we cannot say all that
such a topic demands, without much digression. The reason we have
thought fit to throw the argument into this general form, is, that
though much agitated, the subject has met less fairness than any other;
and, being very wrongly understood, the charge of bigotry is apt to be
applied, most unfairly, to those who have taken a peremptory part in
opposition to the latitudinarian admissions* of those who should have
thought more strictly. A strict, uncompromising precision, was, in
this respect, the rule of Dr. Magee ; and it is to the credit of the good
sense of the Irish peasantry, that this did not prevent multitudes of
the papal communion from flocking to his school. All were taught on
the same scriptural model, and no distinction made. On Sundays, the
church catechism, which contained more peculiarly the doctrinal state-
ments of the church, was taught to the Protestant children alone.
From these latter, a selection was made for the formation of a choir,
and this, with the addition of the ladies of his own family, gave an im-
portant addition to the services of his church. A still more important
change was soon effected in his congregation. We have described the
* We say admissions, because our strictures are only directed to those who, in
other respects, we do not regard as adversaries. To those who may consider
spiritual truth of minor moment, or of none — or to those who may contend for
the dissolution of all the received rules of social polity hitherto in use — such re-
flections can have no application until other questions, far more extensive, shall
have been discussed with them.
PEIIIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, !>.!>. 379
laxity of the time, and Cappagh church was no exception. The church
was then viewed as a Sunday lounge for well-dressed idlers, where all
came to sport their dress, and none to pray. Dr. Magee soon realized
the beautiful description of our countryman, with his simple, powerful,
and earnest statements, and impressive exhortations and remonstrances,
as well as by the force of a deportment and conduct illustrative of his
calling —
" Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And those who came to scoff, remained to pray."
The conscience of many was awakened, and zeal spread with convic-
tion ; the report went round, and the church rilled. The lounger was
no more to be seen leaning against the pillar, but all adopted the ex-
ample which they saw in the doctor's pew — kneeling to pray, and
joining in the responses aloud. The glebe-house being three miles
from the church, this distance was walked on Sundays by himself and
the youthful part of his family.
He gave the same careful heed to the temporal wants of his parish-
ioners ; and a considerable portion of his means was laid out in food,
clothing, and fuel, for the poor.
He had been but a year in Cappagh, when he was appointed to the
deanery of Cork. On this appointment, he resigned Killyleagh, and
retained Cappagh. He was, however, under the necessity of trans-
ferring his residence, on account of the extensive duties of the deanery.
There, his efforts were similar to those we have already described;
and, in the main, attended with great success. We shall not, in this
place, detail the incidents of this brief period. He did not find the
duties of Cork quite so unmixed with circumstances of an unpleasing
kind; nor could he as satisfactorily introduce his system of schools.
A more energetic attention to their own children, was paid by the
papal church, and a more determined resistance shown to any effort
to give scriptural instruction. The dean resolved not to be a party to
any education without this ; but still anxious to promote the welfare of
the poorer sort, he and Mrs. IVtagee set up a spinning school. Prayer,
and one chapter in the Bible, was still insisted on, and complied with,
though not without as much opposition as could, on such grounds, be
ventured upon.
He was enabled to give more unqualified attention to the charitable
institutions which fell within his jurisdiction. The Widow's House
became more especially the object of his careful superintendence, and
was weekly \isited, with most vigilant attention to the comforts of the
inmates.
Many circumstances tended to make his residence at Cork unsatis-
factory. The necessary attention to his northern parish of Cappagh,
which the distance rendered laborious ; his duties as a chaplain to the
lord-lieutenant; with the various calls to Dublin on account of his sons,
then passing through college, under Dr. Wall. The climate of Cork
also disagreed very sensibly with his health. Other circumstances of
a distressing or disagreeable nature arose. The church of Rome was
more prevalent at and about Cork, than elsewhere , and at that period,
there pervaded the laity of that church a temper of angry spiritual
zeal, which has since, in a great measure, subsided, under the influence
380 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES [SiXTH
of various causes, which we shall presently explain. The dean was
placed occasionally in positions which were far from pleasing. It may
sometimes happen, that an imperative sense of duty will point out a
special strong line of conduct, while the magnitude of the occasion is
not such as to carry to the vulgar mind any sense of the real exigency,
nor of the actual consequences, equal to the feelings of angry excitement
which a small thing may call forth. Such was the occasion of the
funeral which was interrupted in the city of Cork, in consequence of a
standing order to the sexton of the church. We do not mean to enter
on the question, and shall not lose space with further statement than
our comment requires ; and, as similar incidents occurred afterward in
Dublin, we must dismiss both with the same remarks. First, we do
not, in the slightest degree, mean to impute blame to the priests or
people of the papal communion, on either of those distressing occasions ;
we only repel all blame from the church. The law was explicit against
the service of the mass being performed in a Protestant church-yard.
There was nothing in this law either tyrannical or oppressive, and the
reasons were quite obvious to every clear mind. The Romanist has
only to recollect how the doctrine of the mass must needs be contem-
plated, according to the fundamental tenet of the Protestant, to be at
once aware of the inconsistency of its being celebrated in Protestant
precincts. Such a consequence, we freely grant, may be a strong
ground of dislike to our articles and authorities, but not of complaint,
that they were enforced by our church. The people were made to
look upon the interruption as an insult; and party animosity took
occasion to place it on those grounds equally fatal to all churches, be-
cause they contain the implication that all religions are but forms and
superstitions. With these remarks, we shall dismiss the subject.
In the year 1817, his family, while in Dublin, on their return from
Cappagh, was visited by a severe typhus fever ; and, as his duties re-
tained him in Cork, the extent of his suffering can only be conceived
by those whose depth of family affections resemble what his were. At
that time, the dean was exercising his fortitude and humanity in at-
tendance on the dying bed of Mr. Trotter, the well known secretary of
Mr. Fox. This gentleman was now destitute of friends, and of the
common necessaries of life. The dean supplied his last wants, and
nursed his last moments with the humanity of a man, and the charity
of a Christian minister. He found him without a servant or nurse,
and, to some extent, supplied the place of both, until he had succeeded
in procuring proper persons about him, and had the melancholy task
of closing his eyes at the last moment.
In the same year, the dean was attacked by a liver complaint, which
had long, perhaps, been latent in his system, and, as is so likely to
happen with men of his intense character of mind, had been allowed,
imperceptibly, to gain strength in the unremitting pressure of occupa-
tion. Mrs. Magee, whose strong intelligence had been improved by
that tact and experience which careful and affectionate parents have so
much the means of acquiring in disease, by her well-directed care, now
enabled her husband to rally under this insidious attack, but twelve
years elapsed before it was ultimately conquered. The locality did not
agree with the health of this valuable and worthy wife, more than with
PEUIOD.] \VILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 381
that of the dean, and he began to feel that any change must bo for
the better, from a place where his health, and that of his beloved
wife, were evidently sinking, and where his utility was painfully cir-
cumscribed.
The desired change did not fail to come. In 1819, he was promoted
to the see of Raphoe. The circumstances immediately leading to this
event are not important enough to detain us in this summary narrative.
We shall only dwell on the more important or illustrative incidents.
His character was at this time so universally known, that his promotion
had long been looked for in both countries ; and from the prevalence of
habits of extreme laxity among the rural clergy, considerable apprehen-
sions of the enforcement of discipline, which would, it was anticipated, be
a consequence, did not fail to be manifested on the report of his appoint-
ment. We cite an authority not likely to be mistaken. " The moment his
appointment was ascertained, every hound was dismissed, and card-table
banished. His well-known vigilance had travelled before him ....
his just sense of the importance of discipline, order, and method, added
to his experience as a parish minister, combined to fit him for the im-
mediate exercise of the episcopal functions with efficacy. He entered
on his new station like one long accustomed to authority. He had
himself learned, in subjection, to use the powers intrusted to him with
firmness and gentleness." The combination of firmness with gentle-
ness, was indeed a happy constituent of his temper. They who knew
him best, were well-prepared to expect that he would at once enter on
a course of conduct so firm, and so adapted to encounter the sad wants
of the time with a steady and uncompromising hand ; they knew his
unflinching spirit, and his conscientious sense of duty. They who
knew him less intimately, may have naturally anticipated, that, like
most popular men, he would bend to cultivate popular admiration. It
is a position in which public men are often placed, and our experience
in their history warrants the assertion, that the nobler part is seldom
adopted, even when the temptation is much less than then was offered
to this truly noble spirit. He chose the purer and loftier way ; and
while he acted towards individual weakness and error with perfect
charity, he stood forth against the prevalent vices and abuses with a
degree of resolution and efficiency, that in the course of a little time,
drew upon him no slight measure of contumely.
In other important respects, the state of the diocese was one of the
utmost disorganization ; and as this was probably applicable to every
part of the Irish church at the same period, it may be interesting to
many to have a more detailed account. Tlys we can give on the au-
thority of the bishop, whose statement we extract from a private letter
to the primate, dated 1820 : — "The plain truth, my lord, is, that dis-
cipline has been unknown in this diocese for full forty years. Of this
I have found abundant proofs ; and were not its clergy, in themselves,
a well-disposed and respectable body of men, the confusion would be
extreme. Respecting the records of the diocese, your grace will be
surprised when I state, that there is not a single existing incumbent
who has his title registered, arid some have not possession of them
and cannot find them. Some, I have reason to believe, have never
read their assent and consent, or known that any such step was requi-
382 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
site. For seventeen years, but four entries have been made in the
registry book, &c. . . . Your grace will scarce believe me when I
tell you, that on my first coming here, the register ( ) de-
clared he never saw a registry book, and that he did not believe there
ever had been one for the diocese," &c. After a further statement,
from which it appears, that a deputy-registrar had purloined the books,
until I brought such proof to bear, as took him by surprise, and com-
pelled him to surrender them." This vicious condition of things, the
bishop set himself to remedy, that he might protect his clergy from
any consequence of deficient titles. He had also found similar dis-
order in the accompts of the charities, and exerted his well-known
talents for business, to bring all into order. Among the disorders
which he also found it necessary to .exert much firmness and vigilance
upon, was a deficiency of curates. On this point, his efforts were inces-
sant ; and we find the remains of an active correspondence with the in-
cumbents of the diocese, such as to make it plain, how close and com-
prehensive was the intelligence and the care he bestowed on all. Tho
same documents no less illustrate the considerate regard for individual
rights and feelings, which seems to have tempered all his actions.
Among them, we have before us letters which minutely refer to the
circumstances of his contest with one refractory and ill-advised clergy-
man. As this gentleman may be still living, and probably much
altered in character, we cannot fitly refer to particulars ; but we advert
to them thus, to say that they, in the liveliest manner, display on the
bishop's part, a most rare union of charity that " beareth all things,"
with uncompromising and steady assertion of the right, and a spirit not
to be conciliated by formal submissions — the very common error of
feeble minds.
In the more strictly spiritual concerns of the diocese, his care was
not less alert, and far more effectual. It was the beginning of a great
spiritual revolution, which had been for several years in slow pre-
paration. The minds of numbers had been touched with the illumi-
nation of evangelic light ; but it had, under the divine blessing, rather
originated from the teaching of individual ministers, than from the
uniform ministry of the church. There was a wide but unrequited
diffusion of spiritual zeal, that seemed to find no fitting place, and
threatened to overflow. The congregations appeared in advance of
their teachers; and those of the teachers who pressed forward, appeared
to be taking the lead of those who should have been their leaders.
There was a delicate and difficult part to be taken. The slack and
secularizing temper of a large portion of the ministry was to be cor-
rected, controlled, and enlightened, without administering to a popular
movement (for such it was) which was rapidly assuming characters of a
vicious divergency from the soberness, humility, and charity of the
Gospel ; and that undisciplined zeal was to be reduced in the regular
channels, without quenching its purer spirit, by simply clearing and
enlarging those channels. The bishop saw that the time demanded a
peculiarly sober and self-restraining vigilance. Beginning with the dis-
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D, 383
cipline of the rural clergy, he saw that nothing short of a zealous and
spiritual ministry could be expected to diffuse regulated, even, and
general influences in the church ; and in no other way, strictly admin-
istrative, was it open to a bishop to work effectually. Were he, for
example, to place himself at the head of the evangelicals, he could only
have had the influence of an individual, much abated by the general
action of a somewhat unordered zeal ; the bishops would have been his
opponents, and a secular ministry would have raised a full cry against
him. For still plainer reasons, he could not take the opposite part,
without pulling the corn along with the tares. With great and
strenuous labour he girded himself to a mighty task, for which the time
was come.
His first care was to establish an intimate individual communication
with every part of his diocese. With such a view, he made a tour of
confirmations, in which he visited the clergy arid the churches, and
made himself acquainted with the neglect which long immunity had
confirmed into custom. Irregularities in the mode of administering
divine service were frequent, and were rectified by mild interposition.
The bishop was sensible, that the circumstances which would appear
to justify such deviations, are, in their nature, more obvious to com-
mon understandings, than the general principle, which renders all such
departures from the established rule so very dangerous. He corrected
the error, and explained how essentially principles are endangered in
the breach of rules. On this point, his sentiments will be found in
his primary charge ; and as an idea of conciliation lay very much at
the root of the error, he exposes, in the same discourse, the practical
absurdity of this most visionary of all delusions. Among the great
leading rules, which he applied himself with the most persevering zeal
to enforce, was that of professional consistency in the maintenance
of the character of ministers of the gospel message of salvation ; he
strongly reproved the conformity to the world, then so lamentably
observable in those who but too much followed the multitude to evil,
whom they were appointed to lead to the foot of the cross. On this
subject, his first address in his primary visitation was most powerful,
and we have reason to know, produced great and lasting impressions,
for which he had well prepared the way by those colloquial admoni-
tions, in which he excelled all men. No description can, indeed, con-
vey any adequate notion of the power which the simple and fervid
eloquence of his style, in private conversation, possessed over the
hearer ; and as it was, under Providence, a very main, though not so
noticed an instrument of his ministration, it may be desirable to pos-
sess some testimony of its character and power. We fortunately
possess one very strong and illustrative testimonial, in a letter written
to Mrs. Hunter, by a friend and intimate of the archbishop — himself
an eminent scholar and critical judge of rhetorical excellence in every
form : — " He was, in truth, singularly gifted by Providence : the mind
of was not to be compared to his. The reach of his intel-
lect was vast and universal ; and, to the soundest judgment, he united
a most extraordinary brilliancy of genius. — was remark-
ably eminent, of logical acuteness, and a striking, concise style of elo-
quence. The archbishop, in addition to his other superior endowments,
384 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
possessed powers of eloquence much above those of ; the
exercise of which, had there been similar opportunites and occasion,
would have displayed this pre-eminence clearly. Even in ordinary
conversation, the superior power of the archbishop showed itself. The
bishop of Durham — I mean the excellent bishop Harrington — told me
that, while the dean of Cork (as the archbishop then was) was talking
with him, he felt that if he were to shut his eyes, he should fancy that
his great friend, Mr. Pitt, was speaking. ' No man/ said he, ' did I
ever hear conversing like either of them, except the other. I had
thought Mr. Pitt not to be approached in the delightful eloquence of
his conversation, until I heard my friend, the dean of Cork, who so
closely resembles him in this.' " In extracting this high testimony, we
have suppressed a name, which carries with it a compliment no less
exalted. But the reader will not fail to observe the strong testimony
which is here given to the conversational power of the archbishop. In
its first perusal, it led us to revert to the times when we were often
forcibly impressed with the various incidental displays of the same
power in our college days. We found no difficulty in recalling deep
impressions, made by the clear, easy, and uninterrupted flow of lan-
guage, at the same time copious, forcible, and select ; the mild energy,
the easy and graceful entrance on the topic, and the striking combina-
tion of familiarity, with impressive earnestness of purpose. The occa-
sions were, indeed, slight — an official communication or reproof, or one
of those digressions from the book matter of a lecture, which an over-
flow of information, and a communicative temper, lead to. Such were
the powers now, at the period of our narrative, brought into efficient
action, among the rural parishes of Raphoe : exhorting, encouraging,
reproving, and persuading, with a zeal and diligent intelligence which
pervaded every spot. Of its effects, no reader who has considerately
read the foregoing pages, can entertain a doubt, or form a low estimate.
One anecdote, illustrative of his strenuous activity, and of the gentle
temper in which he exerted an effective control, must conclude this por-
tion of his history. It was his habit to visit every part of the diocese, and,
from the nature of the country, he was often compelled to ride through
wild and solitary districts. But his Sunday visits were most commonly
to those churches which lay within a ride of his dwelling, on which
occasions he was generally an unexpected visitor. On one of those
occasions, he found a closed church, and no appearance of Sunday pre-
paration. He sent for the sexton, who came presently, " Why does
not the bell toll ?" was the bishop's question. " The clergyman's away,
sir," was the reply. " Will you do your duty ?" " No use, sir ; no per-
son to do the duty." " Do as I desire you." The sexton shrugged his
shoulders, looked askance at the peremptory stranger, and went reluc-
tantly to his task. The bell soon brought a goodly congregation, and
the strange gentleman performed the duty of the day, called for the
preacher's book, entered his signature, and quietly rode off. When the
parson returned, he soon heard of the incident, and, doubtless, with no
idle curiosity, called for the preacher's book, in which he found the
entry " W. Raphoe." Seriously alarmed, he repaired to the bishop,
meditating, perhaps, some lame exculpation by the way, and anticipat-
ing a severe rebuke. He was kindly received, not a word on the un-
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. 385
pleasant subject spoken, and lie was invited to dine. The bishop knew
that he had done enough, and did not even mention the subject to his
family. It was spread by the clergyman himself; and the first intima-
tion the family received of the incident, was on learning that the bishop
was called " Mr. H 'a curate," among the clergy. We may add,
that, while in Raphoe, he practised the most liberal hospitality towards
his clergy, and had apartments in his palace always ready. Once
a-week, he kept open table for them.
We must here omit much interesting matter,* to devote some fair
proportion of our pages to his Dublin administration. We shall, there-
fore, summarily observe, that, during the two years and a-half of his
occupation of Raphoe, he effected great and salutary changes ; and that
it was his undeviating study and labour to fulfil his office in the strictest
conformity with the spirit of the gospel, and according to the inspired
instructions of the apostle. A spirit like his must have been called for
a larger sphere of action, and such was the event. It was an event
unlocked for, and undesired. In Raphoe, he had the gratification to
feel the rapid success of his ministration — to see piety increased and
diffused — and the efficacy of a bounteous attention to the happiness and
improvement of every class and sect, show itself in the advancement of
the town and its vicinity in comfort and order. Here, too, his health
had become restored, and he found enjoyment in the society of many
talented and estimable friends, the well-known companions of his aca-
demic life. Stopford, Maturin, and the Ushers, who had been in his own
time fellows, renewed their old habits with him ; and " it was really
cheering," writes Mrs. Hunter, " to see the glow of enjoyment on his
intelligent countenance, as he conversed upon former times, or engaged
in the deep and important topics of eternal interest." The bishop also,
here, as afterwards in Dublin, collected about him a circle of the pious
young men, who may be regarded as the beginning of the rising race of
clergymen who were to constitute a new and improved state of the
church. And though, in the beginning, he found some cause for vexa-
tion among the clergy, this, too, began to pass away, and he was gen-
erally looked on amongst them with the sentiment of veneration, which
every good mind must feel for him. Upon the whole, his intercourse
among them approached more nearly a parental and filial character than
is, or can be, often realized, until bishops shall be more uniformly chosen
for the same clear superiority of every qualification.
In 1821, George IV., it will be remembered, paid his visit to Dub-
lin. Among the earliest wishes his majesty expressed, was his desire
to hear the author of the discourses on the atonement. The reader is
aware of the high reputation of that monarch for talent and discrimina-
tion in all that belonged to intellectual character. It is also known,
and may well be conceived, that his court was a centre of opinion and
taste, and that all that was most approved by the most discerning
spirits of the kingdom, must have found some echo there. It will
therefore be felt to imply much more than a courtly form, that he should
* Our materials afford interesting information on his able and successful man-
agement of the schools, and the very striking and instructive results in the in-
stances which came under the immediate management of himself, and of his own
family.
VOL. VI. 2 B
386 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
express his desire to hear one who was then admitted to stand at the
head of theological literature, in both countries, and not less high as
a preacher. The bishop received but one day's notice,* and accord-
ingly prepared at some disadvantage. He took for his text, " What
must I do to be saved ?" and treated the question, equally momentous
to kings and subjects, without forgetting that he stood as the messenger
of Christ, and under the roof and presence of the King of kings. The
king was struck with the power of the preacher, and riot less, perhaps,
with a bold departure from a bad custom. Such occasions had been
most preposterously considered fit for an unseasonable display of
loyalty ; and a bold and simple declaration of the gospel, seemed
contrasted strongly with strains of that idolatrous adulation to earthly
ears, which his majesty's good taste must have despised, as unmeaning
and out of place. As the bishop proceeded, the king rose, and coming
forward to the front of his pew, appeared to be under a deep impres-
sion. When all was over, he eagerly expressed his feelings, and em-
phatically desired that the sermon should be printed. When this
request was conveyed to the bishop, he replied that, having been sud-
denly called on, he had collected the matter of his discourse from a
series of discourses on the subject which he was preparing for publica-
tion— a design which would be interfered with by printing the dis-
course which he had preached. In his anxiety to do honour to the
bishop, the king proposed to make him dean of the castle chapel. The
bishop pleaded the distance of his see, to which the king replied, " We
can bring you nearer," — a saying then supposed to refer to the see of
Meath, to which it had been long understood that the bishop was to be
the next appointed.
In the spring of 1822, while the bishop was in town, as dean of the
castle chapel, the archbishop of Cashel died. He was immediately
offered the appointment, which he unhesitatingly declined. He was
content with Raphoe, and would not change for mere advancement.
While, however, he was engaged in conversation with the marquis
Wellesley, an express came in from London. The bishop was about
to withdraw, but the marquis said, " Stay, my lord, there may be
something you may like to hear." The dispatches were opened; they
announced the death of primate Steuart, and contained these words —
" The king wished to appoint Dr. Magee, bishop of Raphoe, to the
primacy ; but I think your excellency will agree with me, that it is
better to do what is useful than brilliant; and that lord J. G. Beres-
ford, archbishop of Dublin, shall be appointed to the primacy, and Dr.
Magee be appointed to succeed his grace." The bishop assented, and
on this understanding the conversation terminated, and the bishop was
requested to announce the intended changes to the personages con-
cerned. Another change of counsels had, in the meantime, occurred.
At a late hour of night, an express had reached the castle, and the
bishop was requested to attend. He complied, and found the marquis
in his night-gown and slippers. Lord Liverpool suggested a fear that
it might be unsafe to place Dr. Magee in Dublin, on account of his con-
nexion with the university, and the known influence he possessed with
* The correspondence is in our possession.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 38?
that body ; that, therefore, it might be wiser to carry out the king's
original suggestion, and make him primate. To this proposal, the
bishop, regardless of the advanced dignity and emolument, but wounded
by the implication of distrust, answered, " My lord, if I am not con-
sidered worthy of confidence, allow me to remain where I am, I desire
not to change." " Well, well, my lord," replied the marquis, " forget
what has passed, and let the former arrangement be pursued."
The change was one to which, had he merely consulted his taste and
inclination, Dr. Magee would not have acceded. The entire circum-
stances connected with Raphoe had been satisfactory to all his wishes ;
with a few exceptions the clergy had shown themselves amenable to
his discipline, and ready to second his efforts for the spiritual renova-
tion of the church. Here, too, he was surrounded by a circle of friends,
and had some prospects of attaining that studious leisure necessary for
the completion of the extensive works to which he felt pledged. To
all his family, the change was still more the subject of regret. But
there was one motive which, to the mind of the bishop, was enough to
outweigh all earthly considerations. He now, more fully than at first,
was aware of the necessity of a decisive course of reform, and Dublin,
while it would give him increased authority to effect this great object,
was also the place where a governing and controlling hand was most
required.
The diocese of Dublin had fallen into much disorder; a lax dis-
cipline, together with other influences already described, had co-
operated with the corruptions of a gay metropolis to secularize the
clergy ; while a strong reaction, which had set in among different
circles of the laity, threatened to ramify into all sorts of irregular
forms of spiritual dogmatism. Deprived of their regular teachers,
the congregations began to be agitated by opinion : the most profound
and difficult questions were introduced as subjects of tea-table discus-
sion, and not considered too difficult for young ladies to decide. As is
usual when unauthorized teachers come into the church, the most fluent
talkers and the least scrupulous thinkers took the lead ; and enthusiasm,
which loves the mystical, threw aside the plain and simple elements of
the gospel to find food for zeal not according to knowledge in every
point in which a question, or a difficulty, could be found. The more
right-minded and faithful of the pastors found themselves led and driven
by the flocks committed to their care; while the carnal and self-
seeking minister treated them with a mistaken scorn. The rural clergy
of the diocese had in several instances allowed their benefices to grow
into perfect sinecures, and divested themselves of every concern but
their farms. The fact was, that for twenty years there had, properly
speaking, been no bishop, as Archbishop Cleaver had been afflicted by
a disqualifying disease ; and his immediate successor, our present pri-
mate, had hardly taken possession when he was removed to Armagh.
It was a season of vast movement in and about the church. The
religious excitement described above was evidently a rich vegetation of
Christianity which demanded the care and guidance of a kindly yet
firm and delicate hand. The bishops, many of them, not chosen for
their spiritual qualifications, and prejudiced against all that wore the
aspect of change, turned away from the emergency, and did not at once
388 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
perceive the true line of conduct which the time required. They looked
too exclusively to the evil of irregularities, and suffered others to take
the lead in drawing the good results. The position was, it is true,
difficult ; and it is their excuse (and involves no reproach), that they
were not equal to it. A man of genius, unbending resolution, sound
discrimination, and uncompromising fidelity was wanting, to mediate
among conflicting forces; to awaken the slumbering conscience of
some, and to moderate and satisfy the excitement of many.
But these were but a part of the critical circumstances which must
then have materially affected the position of any person who, with a
conscientious mind and a determined sense of duty, might be placed at
the helm of our Irish church. The spirit of political faction operated
variously to depress the church both by its direct and intermediate in-
fluences. The subject is far too complicated to be more than super-
ficially noticed here ; but a few observations are essential to our main
purpose. Among the causes which had contributed to beget the gen-
eral slackness and depression of zeal among both Protestant laity and
churchmen, was the bitter tone of sectarian animosity against our
church, which had long been industriously propagated among the several
(but chiefly among the lower) classes of the Roman church. The natural
infirmity which seeks to conciliate the multitude, and the still more
contemptible vanity that would sacrifice a duty for their praise — the
wish to be called liberal, to avoid the charge of bigotry from ignorance,
folly, and profligacy, — a most disgraceful, and, at the same time, mistaken
sense of self-interest ; all had their effect in deadening spiritual zeal in
some, and in placing numerous members of our church in the rank of
her enemies. And the calumnies of the most unprincipled knaves and
most unblushing liars found a wide echo when they should have an
uncompromising resistance. This was aggravated and rendered fatally
effective by the interposition of that secular temper in which it has
latterly been the fault of the British cabinet to deal with the concerns
of religion : a disposition which has since led to the betrayal or sur-
render, step by step, of all that it should be the first duty of a govern-
ment to maintain. It was then in its beginning — the beginning of a
course of national desertion and perfidy, of which the end is yet to
come from a higher hand. The Irish church was thus assailed, and
the reports of its enemies raked up from their base channels, by a few
deistical commoners and peers in the British parliament, to prepare the
way for meditated spoliations and invasions of vested right. In the
midst of this gathering tempest the spirited servant of God, who was
now placed at the head of the metropolitan see, and who at once took
the lead in the assertion of a sacred cause, was a conspicuous mark for
slander and misrepresentation. Of this we shall offer some illustrations
as we proceed.
But in the midst of the same convulsion of elements another remark-
able event began — one seemingly less powerful and diffusive but not
less effectual, — the commencement of a spiritual change in the Irish
branch of the church of Rome : — a change which has been ever since
progressive, and of which the end is yet to be seen. On this subject
it is necessary to say a few words, while, at the same time, it is to
be premised, that they must be written under the constraint imposed
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MACEE, D.D. 389
by the rules under which these pages have been throughout written,
viz., that of avoiding, to the utmost extent that truth will admit, all
offence to a party among which our writings have largely circulated.
But, on the other hand, although we would not be understood to ad-
vance such a claim, yet we are well aware that, from the fair and in-
formed candour of the better classes of our friends and brethren of the
Roman church, much must be allowed to the known and avowed prin-
ciples of a writer, of whose honesty of intention they can entertain no
considerate suspicion. Among their clergy and political leaders it is
not regarded as insulting to our church, or in any way involving a
breach of charity, to express wishes for our return to the bosom of the
papal church : we may well be permitted to reciprocate this charitable
wish with the most perfect good will : and happy should we feel to see
all strife ended between them and their adversaries but the friendly
contest which should have charity and mutual good will for its motive
and the truth of God for its object. Had such alone been the actuating
spirit of controversy on both sides alike — had not secular encroachments,
party feeling, and popular jealousy, interfered to turn the mind of the
crowd, and of many who should have known better, from the proper
questions involved in such a discussion — controversy would long since
have ended in the only way it can end, the prevalence of truth. Every
one who has lived during the last thirty years is aware what bitter in-
gredients have been infused into the controversy : it cannot have
escaped the attention of the idlest reader of meetings and debates,
with what fierce inconsistency the Protestant church of the realm has
been assailed and conciliated with contradictory clamours and reassur-
ances, while the justice and liberality of a Protestant nation (king,
parliament, aristocracy and gentry) was successfully appealed to. Yet,
from these topics and the strong grounds of recriminative statement
with which they are connected, we gladly abstain. We only advert to
them thus, to observe that they have been the great obstacles to the
right discussion of the question between the churches of England and
Rome. The discussion was, nevertheless, at the period now under no-
tice, brought forward in a manner which, had it been allowed to con-
tinue, seemed to promise much, and which did not pass without much
benefit to the Irish people.
As the persons engaged in this discussion are yet living, we must
endeavour to convey our sense with the least possible detail. The con-
troversies commenced with challenges from individuals of either church.
They were conducted on both sides with very great ability and con-
siderable skill. They were, however, not directed to any effective issue:
the arguments discussed were but evasions of the main point : and had
the question even been placed on more decided ground, still the whole
conduct and arrangements were little adapted for the decision of any
great question. One prominent oversight is chiefly to be noticed — the
limitation of the alternate half hours, a condition which reduced them
to a mere trial of the skill of the parties engaged. There was a griev-
ous inconsistency in this : no important topic could be effectively pur-
sued in half an hour, no misstatement involving a hundred errors and
fallacies could be so flippantly dealt with, while fallacy, which can
" perch where wisdom only climbs," has a vast advantage in com-
390 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTl!
pendious and glancing statement. If such a condition were to be
proposed in a great cause in the king's bench, it would excite uni-
versal derision; and is it to be pretended that the ecclesiastical
history, and the controversies of eighteen centuries, were to be settled
in the mock tournament of two divines shackled by stage regulations,
for the entertainment of an audience rather than the decision of
the greatest question of modern times? One controversy, however,
led to many. Of these the first effects were less discernible, and
many sensible men began to express their surprise. The writer of
these pages was differently impressed ; and as time has since confirmed
the expectation to which he was then led, it may be worth stating.
One important point, the withholding the scriptures from the laity, was
frequently introduced in the discussions : and we were very much
struck with the fact, that instead of vindicating their policy (then very
notorious) in this respect, the Roman clergy distinctly and broadly dis-
avowed it. Now the Irish peasantry, with minds rendered shrewd
and observant by political discussions, were the eager listeners to these
accusations and answers. And it was easy to predict the result. From
that very time to the present, — nearly thirty years, — a gradual and la-
tent reformation has been growing almost unsuspected in Ireland. The
peasantry immediately began to look for the Scriptures — and no excuse
remained for their refusal — their clergy were placed under the necessity
of publishing editions of the Douay Testament : and as the Protestant
families in most parts of the country were to some extent prompt to
avail themselves of the temper thus manifested, a very strong infusion
of scriptural Christianity quickly began to mingle with and alter the
form of religious opinion in Ireland. We should be led far beyond
our proper scope were we to follow out this interesting subject. We
have only now to add, that it was a subject which strongly drew the
attention and awakened the zeal of the archbishop. In proof of this
we might offer much statement, but his sentiments will be sufficiently
accredited by two short extracts, from his testimony in the House of
Lords, in 1825. The following are the questions and answers to which
we allude. " Is your grace of opinion that generally there have been
a great number of converts from the Roman Catholic to the Protestant
religion of late ? There have, I rather think, been a good many : at
the same time I cannot pronounce with certainty, but of this I have
little doubt, that the principle and spirit that must lead to the conver-
sion of the Roman Catholics to Protestantism are in most active opera-
tion. There has lately been an excitement of attention to the subject
of religion throughout the people, such as perhaps there has not been
before at any period since the reformation. In truth, with respect to
Ireland, the reformation may, strictly speaking, be truly said only now
to have begun." In the next answer he says, " This I conceive has
been principally caused by the discussions which have drawn the atten-
tion of the lower classes of the people to the subject of the Bible, &c."
Of this, indeed, we have no doubt; arid it can leave as little as to the
course likely to have been followed, within the scope of his authority,
by one so zealous as the archbishop. He was at the time frequently
applied to by priests of the church of Rome, who were anxious to come
over to the church : on these occasions he adopted a humane and pru-
WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. S91
dent course. He considered the impossibility of protecting and main-
taining them ; and that it was his duty to make them distinctly aware
of the risk and inconvenience they must incur. He thought that a
priest might have " gone so far as to have discovered the errors of the
Roman Catholic faith, and yet be very little acquainted with the various
important qualifications required in a Protestant teacher and a parish
minister of the established church." We feel constrained to add, that
if the clergy of the establishment at the time had been fully sensible of
the extent of their advantage, there can be little doubt of the very
decisive results that would in the course of a few years have followed
the steady continuance of the same course which effected so much in so
little time.
The archbishop's conduct in this peculiar conjuncture was the most
effectual that could be applied : he encouraged the discussion of which
he most probably discerned the remote effects. More he had not within
his power without placing himself in opposition to the Bench of Bishops,
who generally either looked on the proceeding with a regard to secular
expediencies, or with no proportionate sense of the important issues
really involved. The real spirit of the Irish people was not appre-
hended ; and a vague fear of causing useless exasperation was the error,
and is the justification, of those who ought to have placed themselves
in the van. Had all the bishops seen as much as Magee, they would
not since have had witnessed the dilapidation of the sacred structure
committed to their charge, nor the continued assault still maintained by
those who, while they have been pleading for admission into the walls
of our essentially Protestant constitution, have been labouring with the
fiercest animosity for the overthrow of our church : holding up one
hand with protestations of loyalty, good will, and conciliation, and un-
dermining with the other. They then failed to see that the tendency
of the popular spirit was (as it is) clearly protestant ; and that the
whole mind and spirit of the country was entirely protestant.* The
exception, in fact, consisting in the small but alert and loud section of
which the Catholic Association was composed. While this small sec-
tion continued to make so loud a noise as to seem to the British gov-
ernment to be all Ireland, and were engaged in organizing through the
country a force (Ribbonism), which has at last given them the entire
command of the people, the Protestant gentry were blind to the ruin
preparing for them, and the church was sleeping secure while the mine
was progressing under its walls and the battery before them. They
did not discern their strength or weakness : the mass of feeling and
opinion in their favour, or the deadly animosity and patient cunning
which supplied the place of strength in the adversaries. They did
not take into account the spiritual coldness and the evil spirit of unbe-
lief which would dispose a cabinet and a parliament to set aside their
professed faith for secular concerns, and that without an effort or a de-
* The educated mass is protestant : the gentry is protestant : and we add, with
confidence, all the more substantial and intelligent of the peasantry are deeply
imbued with protestantism under the name of Romanism ; the same is applicable
to the clergy to a considerable extent. All this can be proved by strong circum-
stantial and probable reasoning. But as yet there is a chain upon every breast
and tongue, — the chain of terror.
392 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
liberation. Such was the fatal mistake which has been the beginning
of disastrous changes now notorious ; and which — were it not that the
eye of God is open and his hand not idle — would end in the utter sub-
version of church and state — Protestant and Romanist, and all but the
record of a glorious people, and of the foulest revolution on the book
of Time. The archbishop was one among the very few who rightly
appreciated the importance of the change then in its commencement.
He was not aware of the counteracting agencies which were in the course
of a few years to come from quarters whence they were least to be ex-
pected, and to repress, though not extinguish, the light which was then
kindled ; and he was probably more hopeful of the event than he would
have been, had it been possible to calculate the hidden processes which
even then were beginning to work against the progress of truth and
reason. But he looked with more than passive approbation upon the
growth of discussion, justly considering that it was the only human in-
strumentality for the establishment of truth. It has been always (and
on very just grounds) the disposition of our prelates to discourage strong
movements among the clergy, knowing well the temper of man towards
extreme courses. But the archbishop's clear intelligence discerned the
exception in this great controversy. He saw, indeed, that it was the
duty of the Protestant to protest — of the Christian to convert — of the
soldier of the cross to combat error — of the messenger of the gospel
to deliver his message to those who were sitting in darkness. He
wholly repudiated the false and dastardly tenet, that our church is not
to be regarded as a proselyting church — a position irreconcilable with
Christianity itself. He was not, therefore, content to afford a mere tacit
sanction, but resolved upon an active part : he directed that sermons
should be preached for the purpose from all the pulpits in town, and
showed the example himself.
In his primary charge, the archbishop seems to have acted on that
principle so familiar to bold and decided minds, and to such alone : the
explicit and unhesitating adoption of his course of action from the first
step. A great outcry was raised by his enemies, nor was he treated
with much fairness by those who should have been his supporters,
when, on this occasion, he described to the assembled clergy of his
diocese the position in which the church then stood, in order that he
might explain the course of conduct they were bound to pursue. He
delivered a strong sentence, which expressed his opinion, and no more ;
a sentence of which the prudence might be questioned in the house of
lords, or in a work written for the public at large ; not so much for the
matter as for the pointed manner. But from a prelate to the body of
his clergy, it was not more in matter, or different in manner from what
the occasion required. He considered, that notwithstanding a few very
eminent Christian teachers, there was yet much of that lax secularity
which loves to conciliate the multitude by the tone of spurious liber-
ality. He saw the coming contest, and he gave the call of warning to
the church ; a call which we would gladly hear once more — to awaken
our ranks to defend their works. But, on this occasion, the popular
character of the archbishop weighed against him; it brought multitudes
to listen, and gave something more than their due publicity to his words.
It has been a part (we believe) of the policy of those who never cease
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D-D. S03
from their efforts to undermine, or from abusive language, with a curious
inconsistency, to resent and denounce the slightest hint of discourteous
import from those they seek to victimize. Our statesmen, who, with a
degree of ignorance of human nature not easily conceived, have adopted
the untrue and nugatory principle of conciliation,* \i ere also not pleased
with language which was carefully seized upon as combustible matter,
and made the most of for the purpose of agitation. But the archbishop
was regardless, and followed the course which the time called for, and his
duty enjoined. We may mention here, to avoid reverting to the subject,
that a few years after, when a very great impression had been made
by the perseverance of the clergy in the laudable work of propagating
the truth, and many converts were gained; the archbishop came for-
ward openly to countenance and sanction this result by a sermon in
Christ-church Cathedral, on the occasion of a clergyman of the Papal
church with several others appearing to renounce their errors. The
cathedral was on this occasion crowded to excess, by members of both
churches, and the discourse was in the 1 Cor. iii. 11., " Other founda-
tion can no man lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ." In
discussing the subject thus taken, he showed a discriminating and chari-
table sense of the mixed character of his congregation by the line he
adopted ; strongly vindicating the scriptures, and putting forward those
views of doctrine and discipline in which the plainest points of transi-
tion might be found from the Romish errors to sound scriptural doc-
trine. He told his audience that day, that " the scripture alone is to
constitute that rule whereby we are to walk — the scripture rightly, and
soundly interpreted. This is to form the rule worthy of a rational
being, subject to a providential government, inasmuch as it secures to
us, at the same time, the guidance of those two great lights which our
Heavenly Father has graciously placed in the moral firmament for our
direction, the lights of revelation and of reason, of which neither was
designed to supersede the other ; much less was it ever intended by
him who is the Father of these lights, that we should abdicate the
benefits of both. We are neither with the Socinian to enslave Revela-
tion to reason ; nor yet with the enthusiast to reject reason in judging
of Revelation ; and least of all, are we with the followers of the Church
of Rome, to close our eyes against the light, both of one and the other.
* We beg to be fairly interpreted. We do not mean to object to the use of con-
ciliation so far as it is possible and just; we simply mean to object to the igno-
rant effort to use it when it is not possible. We can easily admit that if all
imaginable causes of discontent were removed, discontent might reasonably be
expected to cease — not because of conciliation, but for want of matter. We need,
not discuss the causes of popular discontent, which, if just, ought to be re-
moved : as the mistake we would point out is the absurd confusion of multitudes
in their aggregate capacity, with individuals. A person may, in his individual
character, be affected by numerous acts and feelings, which, as a member of society,
or of a section of it, he does not feel. The sentiments of corporations, parties, or
sects, though susceptible (we admit) of violent excitements, are wholly distinct,
and act by a distinct law. Acts of beneficence have a permanent effect, when
they are directed to individuals, and become by accumulation the real feeling of
the aggregate; but concessions to crowds have not this effect; the effect is
momentary, it evaporates in the cheer, it dissolves in their separation, and does
not awaken real gratitude in a single breast. It will mostly be received as matter
of right, or the result of fear.
394 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
But we are by the sober use of a cautious and well-informed reason, to
authenticate and interpret the word of Revelation. We are, in truth,
to govern ourselves by the principle on which our Reformed faith has
been erected ; we are to build on that foundation, which we are told is
the only true foundation which can be laid the foundation of
Jesus Christ." He then proceeded, in a clear and effective argument, to
prove that this foundation is only to be found in the teaching of the
scriptures. In the course of this argument, he strongly exposed the
absurdities and inconsistencies of the doctrine of oral tradition ; and
of the fallacies by which it has been maintained. The main position
he took, was the proposition, that the two only purposes for which the
Church of Rome allowed authority to scripture, were points it does not
contain, but actually excludes ; and followed this argument by a search-
ing exposure of the doctrine of Infallibility. We cannot devote space
to a more full statement of his line of reasoning ; we feel it to be a
duty, however, to add a few observations on the aspect of importance
which the discussion of the same points has recently attained. If we
are not much mistaken, the improved information of our brethren of
the Roman Church, has, since that time, very much modified their
views of Christian doctrine and church authority ; they have nearly
abandoned their rejection of scripture. And with scripture in their
hands, it is our trust that their primaeval superstitions must pass away
as night-fogs before the dawn. We are inclined to regard them
as coming over to the protestant, a tendency which would quickly
be apparent, but for the animosities kept up by political agita-
tion. But we would here observe the importance, in this respect, of
the argument as affecting the strange and melancholy retrogradation
of human reason, which has been manifested in the Tractarian heresy ;
— a departure from the clearest truths, and simplest evidence of reason,
which would at this time of social progress be unaccountable, did we
not regard it as ordered for some wise end, to elicit perhaps from human
error a broader manifestation of divine light, and to make the victory
of truth more final and decisive in its results. Humanly speaking, it
requires a stretch of conception, to see men like the Tractarian divines —
men of deep erudition and much logical expertness — falling into contra-
dictions and inconsequences unworthy of junior Freshmen, and grop-
ing in the daylight like blind men. Having investigated their opinions
with scrupulous care, we are forced to confess the perplexity we have
experienced to find such men, so inconclusively raising points for
which they can find no proof sufficient for a moment to impose upon
a sound common judgment : and for which, if even in theory they
could find proofs, it is quite plain, from the authorities to which
they would refer (the only authorities), that they cannot substantiate
a single application. They fail to prove the authority of tradition
in the required sense, and if it were to be admitted in that sense,
they can find no unquestionable instance of its application. But
the difficulty is somewhat diminished by the consideration, how much
acquired knowledge — how much flow of language — cunning use of
the forms of argument, can coexist with a low degree of judgment,
a narrow conception, ^and limited scope of reason ; and how liable
the intellect is, when its range is confined and its vivacity great,
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 395
to be coloured, as it were, by strong habitual influences — the tastes
acquired in antiquated halls and in the atmosphere of old books —
among which the twilight of the thirteenth century appears to sit, and
the shades of ancient schoolmen to flit through the gloom. But we
trust that these worthy, and we believe estimable men, will awake
from the strange nightmare in which they are bound; and that their
errors will be only productive of a wider extension to the dominion of
God's truth as revealed in his holy word. The world is deeply their
debtor for some able and most conclusive writings on the subject in
which they have been led into error; but the misfortune, and it is a
great misfortune, that while the Tractarian writers have conveyed their
pernicious sophisms and misstatements in the most popular and cheap-
est forms, their far abler opponents have chosen to publish in the most
expensive volumes. We would here refer to the two volumes of Mr.
Goode, which leave nothing to be wanted on the subject, and no dark
recess of error and sophistry unexplored.*
We cannot snter upon many of the discussions and controversies
concerning which the archbishop became much occupied: partly, be-
cause their interest having in a great measure passed away, we should
be compelled to discuss them at a disproportionate length, to avoid
leading to very considerable misapprehension. We should have to
question the conduct and opinions of estimable individuals somewhat
needlessly, and to assert opinions which the scope of this memoir does
not permit us to maintain. As some persons may think that we have
frequently transgressed in this respect, we must take leave to say that
we do not admit such a transgression; we have selected such topics as
we have seen reason for putting forward, in their bearing on the pre-
sent state of opinion, on the character of the person commemorated, or
for their permanent importance to mankind.
Among the incidents which occurred to give the archbishop much
trouble in the early part of his administration, there was one, appa-
rently trivial in its origin, which led to much calumnious animadver-
sion; and which may be selected as very well illustrating the unfair
spirit in which he was then assailed. A Mr. Taylor, one of the as-
sistants in Mr. Jones's academy, being in holy orders, was engaged by
the incumbent of Rathfarnham to officiate for him during his absence.
It quickly became apparent to the congregation that Mr. Taylor's dis-
courses were substantially inconsistent with a belief in revealed religion.
Representations had been made in consequence to Dr. Magee, while yet
bishop of Raphoe, to seek his interposition, by persons (we possess their
names), not likely to be mistaken in such a matter. As the cause of
complaint was renewed, at the period of his accession to the see, he
immediately took steps to ascertain the fact, and was satisfied of the
truth of the complaint. Mr. Taylor was instantly superseded and sum-
moned before the archbishop. He attended; and a conversation en-
sued, which is strangely misrepresented by Mr. Taylor in his pamphlet,
* " The Divine Rule of Faith and Practice," &c., by W. Goode, Rector of St.
Antholins, London. Hatchard. Piccadilly. 1842. The Bishop of Ossory has
produced in his primary charge some effective and valuable observations ; and
we perceive by an advertisement that Dr. O'Sullivan has turned his effectual
hand to the subject.
S96 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
published immediately after. Professing to give an accurate report
of a dialogue, which,, according to his statement, could not occupy
thirty seconds, he afterwards states that it took up ten minutes. A
statement, not only inconsistent with the tone of violent interrup-
tion ascribed to the archbishop, but with the actual matter of Tay-
lor's circumstantial relation of minute particulars. That the arch-
bishop appeared summary and authoritative on the occasion is very
likely, — he probably wished to avoid charging Taylor with Deism,
and Taylor misconceived his motive; but this eccentric and wrong-
headed young man also, perhaps unconsciously, used disrepectful lan-
guage, and we know not why such conduct should be complacently
taken by one who was in the actual exercise of a judicial function.
And we must add, that the language ascribed by Mr. Taylor to the
archbishop is wholly inconsistent with his mind and character, while,
as quickly became apparent, misrepresentation was an essential of Mr.
Taylor's. — What we mean is, that it very remarkably appears from the
substance of the same pamphlet, in which he professes^to give a pre-
cise account of the entire transaction. Taking up the ground of a
Christian minister, wrongfully interrupted in the lawful exercise of his
calling, he concludes his statement of the circumstances, by a state-
ment, in the broadest and most unequivocal language, of opinions which
amounted to the plainest assertion of those tenets known under the
name of Deism, — involving a denial of Christianity in any sense not
wholly nugatory ; thus fully vindicating in every respect the conduct
against which his book was professedly published. This did not save
the archbishop from the vituperation of the hostile portion of the press.
His bigotry and persecuting temper were assailed, for excluding a pro-
fessed infidel from the pulpit, of which it was his grace's most especial
duty and essential obligation to guard the purity. Another point of
Mr. Taylor's grievance, for a while fiercely clamoured about, was his
exclusion from Nutgrove, in consequence of the previous proceeding. —
On this point we have to mention, that the archbishop remonstrated
with Mr. Jones, and in a letter expressed his opinion that Mr. T. ought
not to be dismissed from the school simply because he thought fit to
exclude him from the pulpit on grounds of diocesan regulation. The very
humanity of 'the archbishop's line of conduct was seized on as a topic of
abuse : unwilling to brand the unfortunate young man with the infamy
of his real offence, he took the more questionable ground of jurisdiction.
Had the matter gone no further, it would have left the question in an
unfortunate position. Mr. Taylor's pamphlet, which contained the
most plain self-exposure, did not circulate to the extent of the misre-
presentations, which were put forward with industry. Besides a con-
siderable section of the press, there was a noisy and querulous party
then up in arms against the constraints and rebukes of authority. The
archbishop was proclaimed as an austere disciplinarian, and this
incident was trumpeted as a high act of arbitrary power. Mr.
Taylor himself did not leave the matter long to the babble of para-
graphs and tea-tables. Confident in the presumption and fallacy of
his own self - confident temper and heated intellect, he resolved on
a decided course; partly with a view to the assertion of his tenets,
and more with a vindictive feeling, he engaged the theatre in Fish-
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 397
amble street, and gave lectures to a motley concourse, attracted
by curiosity, and perhaps in some degree by a love of fair play.
In the disquisitions which he delivered, he took the ordinary well-
known ground of those Deists who endeavour to reduce Chris-
tianity into a system of moral philosophy, and denied the fact and
necessity of Revelation. In the course of his lecture, he proceeded so
far in the assertion of the pernicious and absurd dogmas of the several
deistical schools, with so little regard to consequences, inconsistencies,
and contradictions, that the surprise and indignation of his motley
audience was excited, and the tumult grew until the proprietor of the
theatre saw the necessity of interfering for the safety of his property.
It is to be added, that this scandalous scene occurred upon a Sunday, and
the interruption he met is the more indicative of the extreme character
of his dogmas — the most exemplary Christians are not likely to have
been there. During the whole of his outrageous proceedings, which
continued for many months, Mr. Taylor continued writing letters and
memorials to the archbishop ; among these there is one in which he
entirely retracts the statement of facts contained in his pamphlet, which
he admits to be rash and unwarrantable, with a curious disregard to
the utter want of truth he thus laid bare. — Meanwhile he continued
with a perseverance that looks like insanity, to press his admission to
the duties of his sacred profession ; and what is equally strange, he
composed a petition to the House of Commons, in which he at the
same time insisted at some length on his infidel tenets, and complained
of the grievous injury of being excluded from the functions of a Chris-
tian teacher. These facts might well be dismissed as the eccentricities
of a madman, were it not that even this mingled tissue of blasphemy
and folly did not fail to find its appropriate organs in parliament. An
honourable member got up to read and back the prayer of a petition
which denounced the Christian religion, spoke of its founder as an im-
postor, and abused its prelates under the appellation of muftis. The
seasonable opportunity was thus afforded to stigmatize the cruelty and
bigotry of a prelate who had dared to set up the narrow rules of his
profession against those larger laws of universal toleration, which dis-
tinguish our illustrious legislature, and that justice to which even the
Adversary of God would not have applied in vain. — In the meantime,
Mr. Taylor, honourably desirous to justify his parliamentary advo-
cates, and relying on the philosophic temper of London literature,
began a course of lectures, in which he delivered large commentaries
on the text of Toland and Chubb, and Tom Paine, &c., &c., divest-
ing them of the thin disguises with which these more artful infidels
had endeavoured to win souls from God. On three successive Sundays
he was listened to by assemblies which were not unfriendly to his
design, but were disgusted by the inadvertencies which disgraced the
cause of deism, and the indecencies which outraged the conventions of
decorum. He was found too indiscreet and daring even for the unchar-
tered libertinism of the mighty Babel, and there was no one to stand
up in his behalf when he was suppressed by the civil authorities. We
trust this lengthened narration of an incident which may seem trifling,
may be excused. It is here so far important as it fairly exemplifies
the factious temper of which the archbishop was then the object.
3.98 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
The revenues of the see of Dublin are rated at £7,000 a-year. Of
this income the archbishop appropriated ,£2,000 for charitable and
beneficent purposes. He contributed freely to the maintenance of a
useful and efficient ministry, allowing one hundred a-year to several
curates, and contributing in several instances in which the incumbent
of a parish could not well afford the curate's salary. We are, indeed,
from the correspondence and various documents in our possession,
enabled to state the details of numerous proposals for the most useful
designs of benevolence, of all of which the basis was a large subscrip-
tion from the proposer.
Among the expedients which he adopted for the furtherance of his
main design, of raising a faithful and effective ministry in the church,
a system of the most careful and searching examination of the candi-
dates for holy orders was foremost. This, indeed, was the most need-
ful preliminary, from the want of which, the main defects and abuses of
the previous century had originated. It was the severe and merited
reproach of Cowper to the English prelates, that they were not careful
enough in this respect, not to lay their hands on heads " that could not
teach, and would not learn." The archbishop promptly set himself to
repair this evil, and was ably followed by other illustrious prelates ;
and the university, always prompt to take its place in the foremost
advance of every improvement, expanded the theological portion of its
system, and instituted courses of reading, which made the requisitions
of the bishops far from impracticable. In the latter years of the im-
mediately precedipg period, a religious movement in society had
brought forth, under Providence, an improved disposition in the candi-
dates for orders, and in consequence, they came with a better prepara-
tion than might otherwise have been presumed. But there yet existed
a vicious system, and it was always easy for every sort of incapacity
to find its way into the church. And whatever might have been the
wish of the bishop, there did not exist in several dioceses either the
learning or talent for the application of any adequate tests. The arch-
bishop saw and acted upon the necessity of a severe and strict course
of trial ; he engaged the best and ablest scholars in Trinity college to
examine the candidates who came to him for orders. Three days were
set apart for this examination; he took his place at a small table in the
circle, and took notes of the answering, from which, on the fourth day
which he reserved for himself, he sifted the candidates severally, as his
previous observation directed. To this care, the church is indebted for
the admirably uniform competency now to be found among its ministry,
so that it may well be doubted if there is, or ever has hitherto existed,
another body of men so largely armed with both the knowledge and
the graces of Christian teaching and example. And it was with a deep
sense of this, that the archbishop contemplated his work ; it imparted
always a benign and happy cheerfulness to his countenance and man-
ner, at the end of the four days, when all the candidates for holy
orders had pleased him by their intellectual and spiritual preparation.
It was the thankful anticipation of success in the highest cause.
The archbishop's conduct was in general fairly appreciated by the
clergy of his diocese, and found a very general spirit of co-operation ;
though a few survivors of an elder school, a few men of secular temper,
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D. D. 399
and latitudinarian opinions, felt and expressed oflence at a course of
procedure which was felt to be inconvenient. He was alert in visiting
his churches, and he sometimes stumbled unseasonably on a rural
church, when the incumbent was unprepared to preach. He was slow
to admit the apology of no congregation, as he had but too often found
reason to impute this evil to neglect.
Another cause of more considerable embarrassment and anxiety arose
from a state of things to which we have already adverted at length, —
we mean the strong reaction of spiritual temper, which being in a great
measure unregulated in its operation, necessarily assumed a sectarian,
cast. Among the consequences, was one which might well be antici-
pated by the experienced observer; the religion of the crowd took a turn
of enthusiasm, and with the universal tendency of enthusiasm rushed into
the depths of theological metaphysics. The doctrine of election became
the favoured doctrine, and being interpreted in disregard to the simpler
and more practical doctrines of the New Testament, and reasoned out
from the application of assumptions wholly unfounded, and by a method
of reasoning wholly fallacious, led to conclusions exclusive of much more
grounded doctrines. It was a doctrine which, assuming it to be true
in the sense which was contended for, still had been allowed to occupy
more than its place, as it manifestly occupies but a small extent in the
whole substance of the Apostolic teaching, and as it is not obviously con-
nected with any practical course of opinion or conduct ; and most of all,
because it is neither fully explained in Scripture, nor thoroughly intel-
ligible to human reason. It is not the condition of justification plainly
stated, it is not enjoined as one of the articles of faith, but (still assum-
ing the truth of Calvinistic interpretation) as a brief intimation of the
counsels of God, as a mysterious glimpse of the divine and not the
human side of the Christian dispensation. A doctrine, which should be
accepted humbly, so far as it can be comprehended, — and assumed
implicitly to be reconcilable with all the declarations of revealed re-
ligion ; but not rashly set in opposition to them all on the insufficient
authority of so very egregiously incompetent a guide as metaphysics.*
* We have had to touch before on this delicate topic, and to assert what we
now must repeat, that we do not object so much to the supralapsarian doctrine,
as to the use to which it has been applied, and the methods of reasoning of which
it has been the subject. To those methods too, we only object that they are
wholly inapplicable, and absolutely without any data whatever ; being grounded
on wholly unwarranted assumptions respecting the divine nature. We at once
grant that they seem to flow from the language of a few verses of Scripture,
when understood literally, and isolated from all the rest of the Sacred text. And,
further, we do not presume to impugn the strongest and most apparently objec-
tionable sense that can be extracted from that language. We admit our incapa-
city, and simply say, that if all could be known, we have not a doubt but all must
be reconciled in the integral unity of a plan incomprehensible to human thought.
But when man pretends to go so far up the chain of unseen things, as to infer the
counsels of God from elementary principles of God's nature and purposes ; we
protest, not against a doctrine which may be true, though we cannot comprehend
it, but against a lamentable and most pernicious abuse of human reason which
we can clearly comprehend and detect. We are not ourselves wholly satisfied
with the arguments which have been opposed to the Calvinistic view of election ;
but we do not find any reason in Scripture, or in any sense of the tenet itself, a
'reason why a doctrine touched so briefly and casually as it is, and so mysterious,
should be made the Christianity of any faithful follower of Jesus.
400 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Sixrii
The effects of this tendency were worse, and rendered more broadly
apparent by the flippancy with which wholly uneducated persons en-
tered on the defence of a favourite tenet with reasonings in which the
profoundest writers have failed to be strictly rational. There was,
however, a still more detrimental consequence. The same general im-
pulse which gave rise to this undue preponderance of a dogma, had also
associated it with all that is vital and essential in the faith. It was the
same community which was awakening from the low prudential mor-
ality of the previous generation that was betrayed by the native ver-
gency of mankind to extremes, into the depths of the doctrine of election.
The consequence was, that a fatal confusion took place between the two.
The doctrine of the cross was confounded with the mystical doctrine of
Calvinistic election. One party denounced every thing beyond the
sermon on the Mount as Calvinism ; and the aggregate of the religious
worldy giving, as usual with human reason, the predominance to the
deep and difficult, confirmed the assumption. With one section of
society, to be a scriptural Christian was to be a Calvinist : with the
religious, to reject their view of election was to reject the gospel. To
this, other minor theories arose on every side: — nice questions, on
the nature of Christ, were proposed and commonly discussed by the
most ignorant persons with the least conceivable application of
reason.
The bishops seeing, as they could not fail to see, these disorderly
movements — but not as clearly seeing the spirit which really troubled
the stagnant waters of the church — shewed a very natural, but not a
very enlightened, inclination to direct their authority and influence for
their suppression. It became, in consequence, a matter of some diffi-
culty for a really religious young man to obtain orders ; and it became
with many of them a rule to refuse to ordain any one professing what
was in the cant of the day called Evangelical opinions.
The archbishop thought differently: he saw these demonstrations in
their true light. He knew that human nature — presumption, igno-
rance, and the extremes of spiritual zeal and secularizing worldliness —
must have their part in every human change. But he recognised the
hand of God, and knew that all the earnest devotion, the large mixture
of genuine faith working by love, was not to fair to the ground; and
though his own views were not precisely commensurate with those
called Evangelical, he not only did not reject, but even (and we think
rightly) preferred those young men who held them. He saw that
they had in them the true elements of a faithful and effective ministry ;
and that God, who had given so much, would complete his work in
due season. And to no part of his wise agency, in doing the work
committed to his charge, is the church of Ireland more indebted than
to his discriminating and temperate conduct, being, under providence,
the means which have largely contributed to place the Irish church
where it stands, a pattern to all others for the sound learning and un-
swerving faithfulness of its clergy, — their firm resistance to influ-
ences, their disinterested sense of duty, their patient and humble yet
independent poverty, and their devoted zeal undistorted by spiritual
pride or enthusiasm, — presenting in themselves more nearly than ever
yet has been seen in any other class or body of mankind, a strong
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 401
illustration of what the spirit of the gospel would effect if it were not
rejected by the world.
Governed by these views, the archbishop, in his endeavours to cor-
rect doctrine and enforce discipline, did not fail to encourage and pro-
tect genuine piety, without which the church, with its doctrinal system,
would be no more than the " whited sepulchre." And when he could
not open the pulpit, his hand and heart were never shut. The pious
separatist found a seat at his table, and found his zeal seconded and his
charity reflected. Kelly the Christian lyrist was there, and Matthias ;
and it was to the instructive discussion of points of difference that
the return of this able preacher and genuine Christian to the church
was due.
But we are taking a far ampler scope than we can by any means afford,
and must pass on to give a more condensed view of the remaining years of
the archbishop. We shall not here go at length into the question respect-
ing the views which governed the archbishop in common with other
prelates and eminent divines towards the Bible society. We shall have
to meet the consideration in a future memoir. It may be here enough
to state the main principles out of which their difficulty or dissent arose.
On one side it was manifestly a great and powerful instrumentality for
the propagation of the knowledge of divine truth ; it was therefore to
be met without opposition lest thus the hand of providence might be
resisted ; neither was it possible for a faithful servant of God to look
with indifference on some of its operations. But there was at the same
time that in its constitution, and manifested in some of its working,
which rendered it more than doubtful how far a prelate of the church
should take a part in it. It was considered that the enemies of the
establishment availed themselves of its instrumentality for purposes
hostile to its liturgy and articles. That while the members of the Irish
church adhered to the adopted rule, to circulate the Bible without note
or comment, they took care to circulate such tracts along with it as
were adapted to render the whole subservient to objects which no
churchman could conscientiously recognise. But much unqualified good
was manifestly to be expected; and the Rotunda meetings brought to-
gether many of the best and ablest Christians of every Protestant sect.
The archbishop was also deeply sensible of a truth, which must always
be felt to apply in the mixed workings of all earthly concerns,- — that
all must finally work for good, and that whatever be the complexion of
human designs the purposes of the Supreme must alone be worked out in
the end. The Christian is taught " that evil must come," and he learns
to submit ; he can sometimes discern the very course by which the best
results may follow, and he can, in such cases, look upon it without fear ;
but he also learns that there is in such truths no license for unscru-
pulous conduct ; and that, even for visible good, he must not assent to
evil : his duty is his rule of action, the result is to come from a higher
hand. We have stated this principle more strongly than the case re-
quires ; but this is due to its universal and continual application. As
to the Bible society, it was an association of good men for good pur-
poses : but among them there existed large differences as to what was
good. The archbishop, while he felt a deep interest in all the proceed-
ings, and rejoiced at much that was good, did not consider it consistent
VOL. vi. 2 c
402 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [ SIXTH
with his views of his duty to take any direct part. He has left on re-
cord the description and the motives of his own conduct, in his evidence
in the House of Lords' committee, to which we refer the reader. To
one, the Reformation society, he gave his direct countenance, and took
the strongest interest in its proceedings. He was wont to say, that its
very name was pleasant to him, — that there was in it " no ambiguity,
no doubtful or expedient designation under which persons of different
religions or political designs could shelter." He took the chair at its
first meeting in the great room of the Rotunda, and his presence was
greeted with enthusiasm by upwards of 2,000 persons by whom the
room was filled.
During the first six years from his elevation to Dublin his health
continued very good. But the multiplicity of demands upon his time
allowed no time for the prosecution of his extensive literary projects.
His vast collections of materials and accumulated notes, the produce of
years of extensive research and active thought, lay neglected. He was
meanwhile not only severely pressed by the weight of his episcopal
duties, and by the many subjects of anxious interest to which we have
adverted in the foregoing pages ; he had also to cope with the official
authorities with whom his station placed him in connexion. His poli-
tics had given disappointment to the whigs, who, having considered
him to be of those views which the latitudinarian world is pleased to
term liberal, were much mortified to discover that he attached any im-
portance whatever to the interests of the Christian church, and that he
gravely insisted on the principles of religion in opposition to their no-
tions of temporal expediency. In consequence, some of his friends were
cooled, and others turned against him. It was, they admitted, very
laudable to shew his powers by a clever book against the enemies of
Christianity, but it was no light matter, they thought, to obtrude
such interests upon the weighty concerns of party. Some thought it
must be pride, some prejudice ; and others could only account for so
much gratuitous zeal by the suspicion of incipient madness. It could
not be for a moment imagined by the keen-witted traffickers of office,
that so alert and able a man of business could be sincere in such indis-
creet and unworldly notions. It was impossible for them to see what
he could expect to get, or who was to pay him.
It was also observed, by many sensible persons, that having a very
large family, three sons and two sons-in-law in the church, all of them
more or less distinguished for zeal and efficiency — some eminently so —
he neglected the opportunities which his patronage afforded to provide
for them. To his sons he gave so little that it was obvious he could
not have done less. And he was nine years an archbishop before their
labours and their social advantages had secured for them the means of
supporting their families. It at last, of course, happened, that others
who wished to please the archbishop, and who had set a just value on
the conduct of these good men and devoted ministers, took pleasure in
advancing their interests.
The archbishop uniformly refused to solicit patronage for any one ;
and on one occasion, when he was much importuned by a gentleman
whom he was unwilling to refuse, he settled upon him an annuity equi-
valent to the place he was begged to solicit.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, V.V. 403
Some incidents belonging to this period of his life we must for the
present pass, chiefly because they could not well be detailed without
more notice of persons still living than we should desire.
In 1825 he was, by the will of providence, visited with an affliction
which clouded and eventually shortened the remainder of his days ;
this was the death of the much loved and in every way estimable partner
of his life. From this moment, truly dreadful to the human affections
of one whose breast was the seat of the most pure and devoted tender-
ness, the archbishop never was the same. " Old age seemed to fall
upon him" instantaneously ; and were it not that his mind was sus-
tained by his firm principles, and by the spirit of a still holier love, he
would hardly have ever again gone forth from his house of mourning :
but while the awful stroke told with deadly effect upon his body, he
did not for a moment forget his high and bounden duty, but with the
gentle sternness of a firm and steady Christian under tribulation, he re-
minded his children of the duties which called them, and recommended
the conduct which would, he said, have been the wish and counsel of
her who had departed from them.
The proceedings of the legislature became at the same time a source
of the most painful anxiety to the earnest spirit of the archbishop. He
was deeply alive to the revolutionary tendency of the time ; and saw
that the Emancipation measure, and the Reform Bill, must, when fully
carried into effect, bring with them momentous changes, all of which were
not likely to be for good. We have already touched upon these topics,
and cannot enter further upon them here. We have never approached
them willingly, and feel glad to turn from them. The heart and senses
recoil from the lamentable and dizzy gulph in which the prospects of
our time appear to founder and dispart: and were we not sensible
that the same Spirit which first brooded over the waters of abori-
ginal confusion, still presides among the confused elements and clash-
ing systems of this latter (perhaps last) age, to bring light out of its
obscurity, and order out of its confusion, we should despair for the
human race.
The course which the archbishop felt it his duty to adopt at this
time, was one not only tending to alienate friends and to elicit hostility
in the circle of his former associates, arid among the leading political
men of the hour, — it also made him, for a time, the object of animosity
among the lower ranks, from whom he began to receive occasional in-
sults in the streets. Of these we recollect several instances, in all of
which the calm and dignified composure and firmness of the archbishop
were remarkably shown ; and, on some occasions, the effect which they
had in repressing the turbulence of the crowded street was no less
worthy of remark.
In 1825 he was summoned to give his evidence before the select
committee of the House of Lords on the state of Ireland. The evidence
which he gave on the occasion was published : it offers the amplest
views of his opinions on all the topics of ecclesiastical policy to which
we have had occasion to advert ; and as, together with his charges, we
have mainly referred to it as the expositor of his motives of action, and
of his general system of church administration, we shall not dwell upon
it more specially. We may observe that it is full of the best historical
404) ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
matter, and of the clearest and most authentic details of the state of the
church. Of the various controverted questions respecting Ireland, then
agitated among the political circles, the reader may also find explanatory
notices more satisfactory than he will be likely to find elsewhere.
It was believed that his health suffered from his stay in London.
Towns were generally hurtful to his bodily health; and we should
imagine that the fret and labour of his attendance on parliament was
little suited to his strength. He was one day taken so ill in the
House, as to cause a day's interruption. He met with some insolent
treatment from a few Radical Peers, who questioned him in a style not
more discourteous than ignorant. Such conduct he bore with the most
perfect composure, and afterwards observed, " Thank God I never felt
even tempted to lose temper." The general impression made by his
whole bearing and communications was answerable to the high ex-
pectation which had been entertained from his character ; — an im-
pression of the more importance, because a rumour was at the time
propagated by his enemies that his intellect was beginning to break, —
a mischievous calumny, often renewed with as little foundation.
In 1827 he took a summer residence in the county of Wicklow, pro-
bably in the hope of obtaining strength from the repose and pure air,
and from the scenic influence of that delightful country. But the intense
anxieties of a mind wholly possessed by the cares of his high station of
duty accompanied him : the headlong tendencies which were beginning
to manifest themselves in the legislature, — the pernicious theories which
filled the political air, — the slackness of those from whom aid and counsel
was to be sought, — and the vexatious clash of sordid and ignorant world-
liness with the conscience and duty of so many, — all pressed on the
momentary retirements of one who might as easily leave himself be-
hind as his care for the good of souls and the stability of the church.
This year he succeeded with much difficulty in persuading the Irish
bishops to join in a petition to the king, that he would not violate his
coronation oath by assenting to the Emancipation Act. He was ap-
prized by an eminent physician that a journey to London to present
this would seriously endanger his life. He was at the time confined to
his chamber, and subject to a debilitating course of medical treatment ;
but he would not be withheld from what he regarded the service of his
Master, by any consideration, and left his room to travel to London.
Happily the journey had a reviving effect, such as, doubtless, is gen-
erally incidental to persons of much activity of mind when relieved
from the suspense of inaction by the beginning of some decided course.
In London a delay of four weeks occurred : the members of the govern-
ment, unfriendly to the object of his journey, interposed such delays as
they could invent. The deputation was, however, at last reluctantly
admitted to an audience : it was headed by the archbishop, as at the
time appointed the primate was otherwise occupied in the same cause.
The bishops were graciously received, — the king requested them to sit,
and placed the archbishop by his side. The archbishop addressed him
with his usual force, clearness, and elegance of style; he was heard with
attention and interest ; and, when he had concluded, the king replied
tvith great earnestness. Having laid his hand on the archbishop's knee,
he " thanked him and the Irish bishops for their effort to strengthen his
PERIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 405
hands. They had done their duty," he said ; " he knew how his re-
vered father would have acted" [he shed tears in referring to his father];
"but what," he added, " can I do? I cannot command a ministry capable
of conducting matters in the difficult position in which we are placed.
There is, indeed, my old friend Eldon ; and a star has arisen in the Com-
mons (Sadlier), but beyond those I know not to whom I should turn.
.... I have not the steadiness of my father, and I am weakened with
illness." This was the last public effort of the archbishop, who returned
home, dejected and broken in spirit; for he saw the ills to come.
During the following year we still find him residing in the county of
Wicklow ; — and from the correspondence in our possession ascertain
that, although from time to time suffering in health, and much impaired
in bodily strength, the strenuous care for the interests of the church
and country was still uppermost. The various and often complex and
difficult questions which demanded his attention, are discussed earnestly,
and with both fulness and elaborate attention to details. Among the
marks of his constant and faithful care for the university, we find a rough
draft of his answer to a letter from the bishop of Chester, complaining of a
very serious abuse, then imagined to be sustained by the English church,
from the practice of uneducated young Englishmen coming over to
enter and keep terms by means of a merely nominal attendance in
Dublin. The archbishop sent his lordship a full statement of the course
of study, which would have been necessary in order to the alleged prac-
tice. We should both say more, and offer extracts, did we not believe
that so great an error could not now be committed, as to imagine the
university of Dublin inferior in this respect to any other in Europe :
and we trust that we shall have a full assent from the most worthy
of the English prelates and clergy if we say, that the church has not
now a richer and purer source of knowledge and piety under heaven,
than the Dublin university.
In October 1829, the archbishop had an attack of blood to the head,
which severely shook his already sinking constitution, and eventually
led to his last illness in the following year. During this long and
formidable trial, his temper and powerful intelligence were unshaken
in the smallest degree, — though occurrences were in progress which
frequently depressed his spirits, and led him regretfully to wish for
the energy and spring of spirit which he had irretrievably lost.
In 1830 we find him still with the same mind, but changed, alas, in
powers of exertion, taking the same anxious interest in the events
which affected the interest of the church, and affording his advice and
aid when they were looked for. He this year received a proposal from
Oxford, expressing the desire of Dr. Burton to have an edition of the
work on Atonement reprinted at the Clarendon press for the use of
Oxford; Dr. Burton also strongly recommended the book in his public
lectures, and lamented that it was not to be found at the booksellers.
We now return to the narration, with the brevity our space prescribes,
of the closing scenes of the archbishop's days. There is, indeed, much
reason for the opinion, that he fell a victim to his restless zeal. Imme-
diately after the attack which preceded his last illness, his daughter
(Mrs. Hunter) asked Dr. Cheyne to tell her candidly what was the
nature of his illness, and whether he considered his mind to be in the
406 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
least weakened ; the doctor replied as follows, " The archbishop's at-
tack is a determination of blood to his head, and I will pledge my
medical character to this, that if he can be induced to go abroad beyond
the temptation to engage in business, and for three years remain quiet
and free from care, he will, in all human probability, live to a good old
age, and enjoy very tolerable health, though he never again can be the
man he was ; and as to his mind, his intellect is as clear as ever it was.
His powers of calculation are impaired, and any severe exertion of his
brain or agitation will renew the attack and eventually destroy life.
But with care he may enjoy a very agreeable and lengthened life."
When this opinion was repeated to the archbishop, he replied, " The
Lord who has employed me, has given me my allotted portion of work,
and will enable me to perform my duties until he shall no longer re-
quire my service ; I will not run away from them." His recovery left
him with much diminished strength, no longer able to ride or walk
without assistance up or down stairs. But he still entered with lively
interest into the news of the day. An affecting incident occurred about
this period. It was immediately after the election of Mr. Lefroy, and
the college lads were chairing their representative. Upon the arch-
bishop being caught sight of, the procession stopped before his window,
and all took off their hats and gave a cheer worthy of the breasts from
which it rose.
His bodily feebleness continued meanwhile increasing ; for the last
two years, it had been very apparent that he continually expected his
deatrh. He was induced to try the effect of a visit to Wales, and re-
moved to Bangor ; but finding no benefit, and it is probable, feeling
some impatience for home, and the sphere of duties in which he still
felt a lively interest, he returned with his family. During this time it
has been ascertained that an infamous underhand proceeding was in agi-
tation to supersede him in his diocese, on the ground of incapacity; but
the unworthy means resorted to, only served to bring to light the plain-
est proofs of his intellectual competency.
He showed much annoyance at the efforts of his family to conceal
from him such incidents as, it was apprehended, would communicate
pain. It is mentioned, that upon an occasion when one of his family
showed much dejection, after reading a very scurrilous article against
the archbishop in a popular journal, he calmly read the article, and
with a smile asked, "Does this give you pain, dear?" "Indeed, it does,
Sir," was replied : to which the archbishop answered, " It might annoy
me if it were true."
He was on his death-bed, when his inveterate enemies, whose en-
mity receives a stamp, and whose slanders are disarmed by their con-
duct or generally known principles, chose the characteristic opportunity,
to disseminate malignant reports, and bring forward accusations founded
on dishonest misconstructions. — He had for some time now been com-
pelled to transact the most laborious and public affairs of the diocese
by the agency of others ; and although (as we can amply prove,) the
intervention of his own control, so far as it was necessary, was never
wanting ; yet as his ostensible presence was thus withdrawn, advan-
tage was immediately taken to scatter whispers for the most part
merely such as to indicate the base temper from which they came.
PEKIOD.] WILLIAM MAGEE, D.D. 407
Amongst these, the most prominent were, the reports of dotage,
imbecility, and violent derangement. For these, the letters now on
our table, and, with slight intervals, filling the last two years of his life,
afford the clearest refutation. — Of such attacks he was regardless ; it
was only when the church was unfairly assailed, through his side, that
his heart was deeply wounded, and he felt painfully the visitation that
tied him down to his sick-bed. In February 1 83 1 , a petition was presented
in the House of Lords, containing a charge against this illustrious pre-
late, for having misrepresented the value of the vicarage of Wicklow to
the Privy Council. The petition was itself the offspring of the malig-
nant spirit which was at that time roused by designing persons against
the church, which the hand of persecution and spoliation was on the
start to strike and plunder. The true temper of the petitioners was
shown by their selection of an advocate, in the person of a Socinian peer.
But the dastardly slander was met by an able statement from Lord
Farnham, who " succeeded in disproving to every member of the House,
I believe, (writes the archbishop of Canterbury) who was not unwilling
to be convinced, the charge of misrepresenting to the Privy Council
the value of the vicarage of Wicklow."
After his return from Bangor, he was ordered by his physicians to
the country, where he spent three months, and then returned to Dublin.
From this his strength appears to have been continually on the decline.
He drove out every day, but complained that the slightest motion pained
his side. Thus he became gradually reduced to a condition of still inac-
tivity, painfully opposed to "his busy habits and the energy of his nature.
It was painful to one who had always been frugal of minutes, to find
himself seated perforce on the banks of the rushing stream, and count-
ing unprofitable days. As his muscular tone relaxed, the power of
articulation became enfeebled, but this was more an inconvenience to
himself than observable to others. He, nevertheless, was impressed
with a sense that others were distressed by his infirmity, and he became
reluctant to converse ; but through the whole duration of this (to him)
severest trial, he not only never manifested the least impatience, but on
the contrary, continued to show the most exemplary proofs of humble
and holy resignation.
Among the subjects which much engrossed his thoughts at this time,
the most anxious was the consideration about his successor. He
caused one of his family to write to Dr. Burgess, acquainting him with
his dying condition, and begging of him to apply in time. This letter
was not forwarded — the physicans still considered that he might recover.
He also expressed a desire that his MS. on Daniel should be published,
after receiving adequate revision. It was his desire that this office
should be undertaken by Dr. Brinkley ; and he mentioned that if two
dates could be satisfactorily fixed, the discourses would be of important
-value. We shall return to the subject presently. Mrs. Hunter, to
whom his wish was communicated, having proposed to him to allow
her to send the MS. at once, he replied, " What, whilst I am alive — O
no !" The progress of his decline, which went on without intermission,
was accelerated by an attack of the epidemic which prevailed in the sum-
mer of 1831. His sufferings were on this occasion sadly aggravated by the
illness of his daughter Margaret (Mrs. Hunter), whose unremitting tender-
408 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
ness and care of his declining health for a-year and a-half, had left her ill
prepared to sustain so trying a complaint. But her life was in danger,
and in a state of helpless prostration she was removed to Lucan, where
six weeks elapsed before she regained her feet. On her return he had
been much shaken, and his nervous system appears to have been wholly
shattered. We forbear to follow out the slow and wearing succession
of indications which he fully understood, and none could mistake, which
for a few weeks marked his course. He was sent to the country; and
his daughter had purchased a Bath chair, in which he was pushed about
the grounds by one of his sons, while she walked by his side. He
refused to suffer a servant to perform the task of a horse, and his chil-
dren gladly took a pious duty on themselves. It was on one of those
excursions that he seemed to receive a fright from some noise, and
desired to return home. They had reached the house when they per-
ceived him to have become speechless, and immediately sent for medi-
cal aid. He never spoke again. But with the exception of some in-
tervals of delirium for a week, he seemed to possess his faculties to
the last.
We have endeavoured to convey our ^estimate of the man in the
foregoing pages ; if we have failed in this endeavour, we are not likely
to repair the defect by any formal summary ; nor shall we attempt it.
The narrow space at our disposal has only permitted a slight and in-
adequate selection of the varied information and profuse abundance of
documents placed at our disposal by Mrs. Hunter. And we feel that
duty yet remains to be fulfilled on a broader scale, both of composi-
tion and material; which with God's permission and help shall be
performed.
We shall conclude with a slight notice of those unpublished writings
to which allusion has been frequently made. The Donnellan lectures
consist of a series of discourses preached in the College chapel. They
contain a full and connected discussion of the entire series of intimations
and promises concerning the coming of Christ, from the beginning till the
very period of their actual accomplishment. On this far reaching chain
of research, he follows the statement and enunciations of the Sacred
record, with as much precision and sagacity, and as little departure
from the strict sobriety of probable inference as we ever recollect in any
work of profound investigation. Pursuing the several successions of
periods, — the Patriarchal, the Mosaic, the Kings and the Prophets, — he
traces most satisfactorily the harmonious unity of design and of charac-
teristic spirit and significance in the whole. He also marks the divine
economy preserved throughout these disclosures, both as to the choice
of the times in which they were communicated, and as to the adaptation
of their substance to those times ; — proving, for instance, how they
came in seasons of affliction or of national depression when adverse
events might seem to shut out the possibility of the accomplishment of
the national expectations ; and still more, demonstrating the uniform
growth of the fulness and distinctness of the prophetic indications of the
time and characteristics of the Messiah, in proportion as the period drew
near. Such is the general scope of these discourses. They are written
with the utmost simplicity of a style quite free from that affectation of
eloquence so much in use at the time they were composed ; all through
PERIOD.] CHARLES WOLFE. 409
manifesting and communicating the deepest interest in the subject.
Nor can we, considering the primary importance of their subject, the
impressive manner, and the clear and abundant command of the matter,
conceive any writing so likely to have been received as important to
the Christian church. They did not, indeed, receive from the arch-
bishop the editorial preparations which would have accompanied their
delivery to the press. This his devotion to a special part of the same
subject, the prophecy of Daniel, prevented ; and the remains of his
labour on this latter, indicate what his zeal and industry would have
effected, and what his scrupulous judgment would still have considered
insufficient. In fact, we have before us these lectures as they were .
first written for the college pulpit, without a note, and scarcely a cor-
rection, but strongly imbued with the pervading mind and power of
the author, to which we might without flattery apply Bernouilli's praise
of Newton ex ungue leonem !
On the subsequent lectures on the Prophecies of Daniel, if we are
compelled to speak more doubtfully, it is not from any apprehension
that the subject is less ably treated, or that it is deficient in interest.
But from the doubts which every one should naturally entertain on any
solution of a difficult chronological question which has so long continued
to divide and embarrass the wisest and ablest men. We nevertheless
must say, that the archbishop's solution appears to us convincing, and
fully escapes the great and (as we think), insurmountable objections
which occur against Mede, Usher, Marshall, Lloyd, and Newton, and
others we have read upon the subject. The archbishop's view is sus-
tained by vast accumulations of the most far-sought materials relative
to every point. These materials are also before us, but we have not
yet found leisure for the continued and laborious application which
would be required to master them. One thing is however clear, that
whether the archbishop's solution be true or not, it must, in the present
state of the inquiry, have the utmost value to chronology ; for, until
the point of failure shall have been ascertained, it must at the lowest
stand as a valuable piece of research, and, it may be, of approximation ;
for as all the leading inquirers have hitherto added their respective
portions of light, so it is not to be presumed that the long devoted at-
tention and research of the author of ' The Atonement' can have left
no results.
BORN 1791 DIED 1822.
IT is a task we would, were it allowed us, most willingly decline, to
write a memoir of Wolfe. Were the fame of good and gifted men to
bear any real proportion to their powers of mind or worth of character,
none could justly claim a larger or fairer canvass than this admirable
scholar, poet, and exemplary Christian clergyman. But it pleased the
Sovereign Disposer, who acts by laws different from the narrow-sighted
views of this world, to take him to himself before his bright genius,
confined to a narrow, humble, and laborious sphere of duties, had time
410 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
to produce those adequate results, according to which the fame of meu
is measured in this transitory state of things. It is no slight aggrava-
tion of the difficulty we apprehend, that our recollections are those of
an acquaintance and friend ; and that it is impossible for us to pen a
sentence unimpeded by a host of bright and affecting recollections, the
shadows of those departed thoughts, with which our readers can have no
communion, and which yet will scarcely be shut out or allow us to pro-
ceed with the tempered statement which it is our rule to preserve.
There is yet a greater difficulty than all, — the public has long been in
possession of a most deservedly popular memoir, remarkable among such
writings for the succinct and yet comprehensive truth with which the
author, a college cotemporary and attached friend, has drawn the faithful
resemblance of Wolfe. The necessity under which we thus labour, of
resorting for the few main facts which we can afford to give to a volume
of which nothing can be abridged or altered without injury, cannot but
be felt embarrassing. At the same time, for the same reason, we
strongly feel, that to\vards the subject of this notice no debt of memory
remains unpaid, and that we may in justice consult the expedient brev-
ity that now more than ever our space requires.
Charles Wolfe was the son of Theobald Wolfe, Esq. of Blackhal',
county Kildare. He was born in Dublin, 1791. Among the descen-
dants of his family, Archdeacon Russel reckons the hero of Quebec, and
the Lord Chief Justice Kilwardeu. Wolfe lost his father early, and was
removed with his family to England, where he received the early part
of his education at several schools, the last of which was Winchester
school, — there we are informed by his biographer, he " soon distin-
guished himself by his great proficiency in classical knowledge, and by
his early powers of Latin and Greek versification."
In 1808 he accompanied his mother to Ireland, and in the following
year entered Trinity college under Dr. Davenport. There he rose at
once to the highest distinction, obtained all the honours at the disposal
of the university, and a still higher distinction by the style in which
they were won. In the large circle of his friends, for to be his ac-
quaintance was to love him and to be loved, the moral impression of
his character was deep and lively. There was about his entire manner,
language, countenance, and minutest act, a spiritual elevation and a
buoyant exuberance of all the nobler moral elements of which the
effect was never for a moment doubtful. Among his associates some
were apparently of stronger intellectual power; and high as was
Wolfe's genius, it was not this made him the centre of regard and
respect to so many talented and informed men : but these were all more
or less clouded by the varied indications of self, which universally lower
the tone of human intercourse. Wolfe alone was haloed by a sphere of
high and pure enthusiasm, ever turned on all that was good and pure
and noble in word or deed, but never reflected upon himself.* And
* In describing the characteristic ardour of Wolfe, Archdeacon Russel gives a
just and graphic sketch, to the truth of which \ve can personally bear witness,
and which ought not to be omitted. " Whenever in the company of his friends
any thing occurred in his reading, or to his memory, which powerfully affected his
imagination, he usually started from his seat, flung aside his chair and paced about
the room, giving vent to his admiration in repeated exclamations of delight, and
in gestures of the most animated rapture."
PEKIOD.] CHARLES WOLFE. 411
there was then too apparent to be overlooked in the composition of his
mind, somewhat which may best be expressed in his own words, a
" light unseen before ;" — he was not possessed of fluent eloquence, nor
was he as prompt in his command of knowledge in conversation as
might be supposed ; but the deep and pregnant vein of new and beau-
tiful conception ever forced its way, and communicated a charm which
clever talk or overflowing erudition never could possess.
During his academic course, Wolfe obtained several prizes for Eng-
lish as well as Latin verse. The verses have been long before the
world, and require no critical notice. We shall perhaps find occa-
sion for some incidental remarks.
He obtained a scholarship with the highest honour, being, as well as
we can now recollect, second on the list, and thereupon took chambers
and went to live in college. The same year he was admitted into the
Historical Society, where he immediately rose to very prominent dis-
tinction in the prepared debate, for the tone of classic elegance which
distinguished the few speeches he delivered, as well as for the pure and
refined character of conception and reasoning they displayed. He was
selected by the auditor* to open a session by the usual address from
the chair. A friend who had himself been in the first instance applied
to for the same purpose and refused, exerted himself to prevent Wolfe
from accepting of this honour, for the same reasons which had actuated
himself. It appeared to him that there was much disadvantage in
coming forward to address a public assembly upon a topic which had
been discussed from the same chair twice a-year ; of which the solid
facts and standard principles had become, or ought to have become,
trite from over-frequent handling, and on which two classes of hearers,
and two opposite stages of taste and information were to be conciliated :
where rhetorical ornament must win the youthful, and sober precept
satisfy the more disciplined ; — and in which, above all, an effort thus
made doubly difficult was to be made within a very limited interval.
These, with other reasons, made a strong impression on the mind of
Wolfe ; and before he acceded to the request, the auditor had twice
remonstrated with the overmeddling friend who would not perform the
office himself, nor allow another. Eventually Wolfe undertook the
duty, but with (we believe) added disadvantages. At that period of
his life he was subject to dilatory fits which were mostly compensated
in him by great powers of energetic effort. We are also under the im-
pression that he continued to feel the effect of the discouraging counsel
of his adviser. He had not at the time of delivery fully completed his
speech, which had probably been composed after the manner of the
sybil upon fragmentary leaves : yet, when the time came, he was not
found inferior to the ablest of his predecessors, and the gold medal was
voted by the unanimous consent of the society. Of this speech the
reader may find some remains in Archdeacon Russet's Memoirs, they
clearly manifest some of the peculiar powers and qualities of the author.
It was during his college life that his poems were written. His
heart was full to overflowing of the purest spirit of poetry, and they
came from its exuberance, — when the fire kindled, he spoke. He never
* \V. Brooke, now an eminent barrister and queen's counsel.
412 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
thought of verse-making as an occupation, nor was it his habit to sit
down to that deliberate manufacture of poetry, which is the reproach
and vanity of the rhyming tribe : and all his (far too few) lyrical
effusions breathe the deep feeling and truth of nature with a simplicity
of expression, and absence of verbal trick, to which no mere expertness
can reach. From this simplicity they appear easier to have been written
than they are; ausus idem frustra laboret; but for the same reason they
are not likely ever to receive from the crowd the full appreciation of their
claim. The vulgar are won by the glare of ornament, or by the ex-
aggerations of passion. The native style of a poet may, it is true,
have striking singularities — for this, indeed, is one of the conditions of
high poetic power — but it was Wolfe's genius to be true to nature.
He had not the elaborate charm of Campbell's melody, — or the refined
morgue of Byron, or the unequalled sketching of his magic pencil ; —
but, in comparison with these, he possessed the (perhaps) rarer gift,
which distinguished Burns compared with his cotemporaries, the intense
reality of expression, wholly past the reach of art, and derived from
a deep communion with the natural affections of the human breast. It
may, indeed, have been observed by the reader, that this is the weak point
of most poets (good and bad alike), and there is a reason for it worthy of
notice. It requires but ordinary power to express the ordinary emo-
tions so far as they commonly find expression, — so far, indeed, the affections
are not properly within the province of poetry, though such are the
materials with which tenth-rate dramatists will sometimes " split the
ears of groundlings :" these, like the truisms of moral sentimentality,
supply the ranting emotions of the rhymester. But there are trains of
emotion and states of mind which do not look for language when felt; and
which, to a great extent, can find no direct expression : upon these
the poet of nature will ever seize. A present reality will awaken
thoughts in the dullest mind, which only the power of genius (which is the
power of realizing) can reach without that reality : the rustic can weep
with all the power of love over the grave of his betrothed ; but the poet
can mourn from a still deeper and purer fountain over the lady of his
imagination. He alone will catch and clothe the passing fantasies of which
sorrow is profuse, and which, like the oracles that sleep within the cavern
of Trophonius, are only to be known by the initiated, and will not speak
in the vulgar tongue. Asa striking exemplification of these criticisms,
we shall here present tho reader with one of Wolfe's songs, which is thus
introduced by Mr. Russcl. " Another of his favourite melodies was
the popular Irish air ' Gramachree.' He never heard it without being
sensibly affected by its deep and tender expression ; but he thought
that no words had ever been written for it, which came up to his idea
of the peculiar pathos which pervades the whole strain. He said they
all appeared to him to want individuality * of feeling. At the desire
of a friend he gave his own conception of it in these verses : —
If I had thought thou could'st have died,
I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot when by thy side,
That thou could'st mortal be ;
* It may be needless to observe, that this is precisely the essential result of the
property we have above endeavoured to distinguish.
PERIOD.] CHARLES WOLFE. 413
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou should'st smile no more !
And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again,
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain !
But when I speak, thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid,
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary ! thou art dead.
If thou would'st stay, e'en as thou art.
All cold, and all serene,
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been !
While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own ;
But there — I lay fchee in thy grave —
And I am now alone !
I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me ;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart,
In thinking too of thee ;
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light unseen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore !
The exquisite play of the last couplet will not have escaped the
observation ; it seems to be one of those rare touches in which feeling-
beats fancy at her own game. Nor can it be necessary to dwell
minutely on the strong points of exemplification : few readers can
fail at once to call to mind the sentimental conventionalities connected
with the subject; to seize on these, to select and clothe them in re-
fined language, and adorn them with rich arid classic fancies, would
be the aim of the most successful lyrist, as we could easily prove by
many a beautiful example. But, in the poem here cited, it will be ob-
served that there is a total departure from this ordinary range, — that
the poet's fancy has passed into the inner sanctuary of truth and real-
ity, and is standing in the awful presence chamber of death, gazing on
the countenance " all cold and all serene," and feeling what so many
have felt and will feel, and so few can ever express.
We shall, we trust, be excused for having dwelt so far on this topic;
it is from no wanton indulgence of speech, but as we consider that such
was one of the strongest peculiarities of Wolfe. In him, the poet was
the man, and poetry never was more honoured in her subject.
Besides the success which he had in the prizes for poetry given by
the college, Wolfe also obtained two composition medals in the Histori-
cal Society. Of these we shall not speak, they may be found in Mr.
Russel's memoir, and with the memoir itself will more than repay the
perusal.
Having, after the attainment of his scholarship, turned his attention
more directly to the scientific branches of the undergraduate course ;
Wolfe now began to show that his mathematical powers were not less
414 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES.
competent than his classical. Till then he had been a careful student,
and had kept pace with the standard attainments of the premium men.
But there was one mathematician, till then unrivalled in his class, who
had been praised by some of the ablest of the Junior Fellows for the
facility with which he could master and solve the most difficult ques-
tions. He had been uniformly the January premium man, and had
preserved his pre-eminence by certificates. In the January next after
his scholarship, an anxious interest was felt among Wolfe's associates,
as there was a growing conviction among them that there would be a
lively contest between Wolfe and * * *. The competition came, and
we recollect it well, having been in the next division, and seated within
four feet of the contest, which, according to the usage of that time
(1813), took place in the last two hours, and, so far as it could be heard,
suspended all minor interest. The examination was, at that time, more
strictly a competition than in later times, and, though the matter was less
advanced than the science of the present examinations, it was far more try-
ing from the 'form in which questions were put and answered. On the
occasion to which we refer, an hour was passed in the arduous effort to put
a question which one candidate might miss and the other solve, and the
most breathless attention hung upon answers of which, though few of
the listeners could understand, they could judge of the success by the
answer not being interrupted. Of these perplexing trials of nerve,
memory, and clearness, one succeeded another, while the hearers, more
anxious than the parties engaged, still expected the critical break down,
that was to decide the contest ; after a long continuance of this mar-
vellous display of intellectual resource, it came, and, beyond expecta-
tion, Wolfe was the victor.
He was after this strongly urged to read for the fellowship, and
after some time consented. But there was in the constitution of his
mind much that was unfavourable to such an undertaking. Arch-
deacon Russel has so well explained the curiously profound, yet way-
ward and desultory temper of his pursuits, that we must refer to the
whole passage of his memoir.* " He was not content to know what an
author's opinions were, but how far they were right or wrong. The
examination of a single metaphysical speculation of Locke, or a moral
argument of Butler, usually cost him more time and thought than would
any ordinary mind through a whole volume." The archdeacon has
also commemorated the extreme facility which made his precious hours
so often the prey of visitors, and the importunity of those who love to
lean upon the complaisance of others, for the discharge of their own duties.
With these disadvantages, it soon became apparent that, however he
might master the more philosophical branches of study comprised
within the fellowship course, he was unlikely to persevere in the
dry and laborious employment of acquiring possession of the copious
expanse of that accumulation of opinions, mere speculations, barren
dates and records which constitute so much of human learning. He,
perhaps, began quickly to be sensible of the tedious as well as weary
toil and discouragement of the undertaking, and began to turn his views
to that far more general path of attainment and usefulness for which he
was so eminently qualified.
* Vol. i. pp. 12, 13. Edition, Dublin. 1825.
PERIOD.] CHARLES WOLFE. 415
In November 1817, he was ordained, not before (it is believed) he had
received a severe and trying disappointment of the affections, in his attach-
ment to a young lady with whose family he had for some time been on the
terms of a very cordial and endearing intimacy. But as his prospects
were not at the time such as, consistently with prudence, to justify the
parental sanction of a mutual engagement which might risk the happiness
of both parties, it became necessary for a time to cease from an intercourse
in which both Wolfe and his friends had found much enjoyment. This
incident is mentioned as having for a considerable time weighed heavily
upon his breast ; and also as having probably influenced to some extent
the alteration in his plans of pursuit.
His curacy was situated in the county of Tyrone. For a description
we may take an extract from one of his letters :* " I am now sitting
by myself opposite my turf fire with my Bible beside me, in the only
furnished room of the glebe-house, surrounded by mountains, frost and
snow, and by a set of people with whom I am totally unacquainted."
His household consisted of an artillery man with his wife and two chil-
dren, who attended and made a prey of him, as may well be supposed.
In this lone and deserted place, Wolfe found contentment. He did
not feel alone, for he walked with God in the full sense in which this
privilege is given to man. His path was the laborious round of a
curate's avocations, which occupied his whole time and strength. After
a short absence, he writes to a friend, " I am again the weather-beaten
curate ; I have trudged roads, forded bogs, braved snow and rain,
become umpire between the living, counselled the sick, administered to
the dying, and to-morrow shall bury the dead."
He was soon removed from Ballyclog to Castle Caulfield, where he
had to encounter all the most grave responsibilities and trying difficul-
ties which can result from a large protestant parish, composed of mixed
sectarian inhabitants, and consequently teeming with that controversial
spirit which so often assumes the character, and takes the place of
Christian zeal. Here, he had, in a sense, more extensive than the
apostle's, to be "all things to all men," and have his temper and zeal
put to every trial. In addition, he complained of being compelled to
take a cottage and laud, and to " encounter all the horrors of house-
keeping."
We do not feel that we can, in this summary sketch, fairly venture
to draw further on the deeply interesting details judiciously conveyed by
archdeacon Russel through the letters written by Wolfe at this period.
His church was much attended by the Presbyterians, and fully attended
by the Methodists, and all agreed in their respect and good-will to him-
self. He steered with successful ability through many difficult positions,
and among others through the trying straits of a vestry, and his effi-
ciency in all respects became felt on every side.
In May 1819, he received one of those afflicting shocks which never
can be fully estimated but by spirits such as his. The sudden death
from apoplexy of his dear friend Dr. Meredith, seems to have deeply
affected his spirits. Having heard of the danger of this friend, he started
on foot for his residence, and having run ten miles, arrived " only in
* In Archdeacon Russel's Memoir.
416 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
time to see his dead body." His feelings upon this sad occasion
were expressed in a tone so characteristic of the ardent enthusiasm of
Wolfe's affections, that we must extract a few lines from the letter pre-
served by archdeacon Russel. " One of my heart-strings is broken !
the only way I have of describing my attachment to that man, is by
telling you, that next to you and D , he was the person in whose
society I took the greatest delight. A visit to Ardtrea was often in
prospect to sustain me in many of my cheerless labours. My gems are
falling away; but I hope and trust, it is because God is 'making up his
jewels.' "
In the meantime, his parochial labours were much on the in-
crease, from the effects of his own activity and zeal, and from the gener-
ally favourable impression he seems to have made on every class of
Christians. We are told by Mr. Russel, that " Amongst his constant
hearers, were many Presbyterians, who seemed much attracted by the
earnestness of his devotion in reading the liturgy, the energy of his
appeals, and the general simplicity of his life; and such was the respect
they began to feel towards him, that they frequently sent for him to
administer spiritual comfort and support to them in the trying hour of
sickness, and at the approach of death." On this subject much informa-
tion of exceeding interest is contained in the archdeacon's memoir. His
thoroughly Christian temper, his patience, meekness, singleness, and
moderation, his power as a teacher, his laborious perseverance in every
part of his duty, attracted and won all denominations.
But the severe exertion of his unremitting and restless zeal was perhaps
too much for a frame which, though strong in apparent conformation, and
rendered active by the energy of his spirit, had never been disciplined
into muscular endurance by the bracing exercises of the field ; and
which also may, with much probability, be said to have contained within
it the fatal seed of premature decline. A typhus fever which raged
through the country in 1820, brought with it a large increase of duty,
already as much as his strength could well bear. And as he was not
ordinarily careful of himself, the toil and exposure which he was hourly
necessitated to endure, must have told with sad effect upon one who
neglected precautions, and never gave a thought to his ease. A habitual
cough, of which he was hardly conscious, had often alarmed his friends.
But in the following year it began to assume a threatening character.
He was slow to admit the expediency of relaxing his parochial labour ;
but at last the changes, which were become perceptible in his appear-
ance, communicated a sense of alarm to some of his parishioners. His
friends were written to ; and he was influenced by a neighbouring
clergyman so far as to pay a hurried visit to Scotland to consult a phy-
sician reputed eminent in consumptive cases. On his return he was
visited by Mr. Russel, with the intention to urge a temporary suspen-
sion of his ministerial avocations. To this visit the reader of the arch-
deacon's memoir is indebted for a very affecting description of the love
of his parishioners for their pastor, and of the effect its manifestations
produced on Wolfe, as also of the accurate knowledge he seemed to
have acquired of every individual.
The physician whom he had journeyed to consult had peremptorily
ordered his retirement ; but it was with difficulty he was persuaded to
PERIOD.] CHARLES WOLFE. 41 7
follow the advice, and remove to Dublin. Once there, he resigned him-
self to the care of his friends and family. For some time, as frequently
happens in consumption, his health seemed to amend, and offer those
fair intervals which delude the hopes of sanguine friends. A change
of climate was advised ; but having embarked for Bourdeaux, the ves-
sel was twice driven back by contrary winds, and he suffered so much
that the design was relinquished, and he settled near Exeter. While
here he received an offer of the important curacy of Armagh, which he
accepted ; but without feeling enabled to name the period of his ab-
sence. His health seemed still to mend, and he began to look hopefully
forward to his return to active duty.
Early in spring he returned to Dublin. But his disease was found
to have rather gained upon him, and he was ordered a trip to Bour-
deaux and back for the benefit of the voyage. This benefit, though very
apparent, was but transient, and the fatal symptoms soon reappeared
with increased strength. It was about this period that we had the
melancholy pleasure of receiving a visit from him at our lodging. We
had not seen him for many years ; — he was indeed altered. The buoy-
ancy and cheerfulness of an elastic energy had for ever past from his
wan and faded features ; and they had become pale arid marked legibly
by a hand which was not to be mistaken by those who had learned to
know its awful touches : we had been among those thus painfully
enlightened. We presume that his friends must, at the time, have fully
understood that the end was near : and this appears from the arch-
deacon's language and narrative. About the end of November, Wolfe
was ordered, as a last resource, to Cork.
We shall not protract this account by further pursuing the last stage
of this most admirable Christian's passage to the gate of life eternal,
through that dark and narrow way, so trite, yet so awfully mysterious.
Suffice it to say, that his death-bed was cheered by that glorious and
beautiful spirit of faith and hope which never fails to visit the last con-
scious moments of the Christian, and to convey to those who are pri-
vileged to witness them an unquestionable proof of that victory which
alone can triumph over the grave.
Of Wolfe's poetry it is needless to write ; — he has written little, but
he has his fame. The history of his few and desultory indulgences in
this way is indeed most interesting; but this interest cannot be pre-
sented in so brief and cursory a narrative as this. They are happily
well recorded by the hand of archdeacon Russel, in whose memoir the
poetry is all preserved.
Wolfe had passed from the university into the laborious avocations
of a curate, too soon to allow his broad and just understanding to have
arrived remotely at that stage of power and discipline which would, at
a further period, had such been his Master's will, have worthily de-
veloped and brought into action its high natural endowments. In his
sermons, and still more in his casual notes, may be discovered amply
the materials and elements of the finest order of eloquence and pro-
foundest Christian philosophy.
VOL. vi. 2 D
418 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTM
* William
BORN 1789— DIED 1830.
WILLIAM PHELAN was born at Clonmel. His father, Mr. John Phelan,
though in depressed circumstances, and living by an humble craft, was
the representative of a family which, previous to the twelfth century,
had ranked high among the ancient inhabitants of Ireland ; — a remem-
brance which had still been handed down from father to son without
material diminution. This remembrance, the source of much evil in
the bitterness of spirit which descends with it, is yet, we are convinced,
when it is found in a good soil, also productive of a tone of moral ele-
vation rarely to be found among the poorer classes ; and of this Mr.
Phelan was an example. Possessing the taste and feelings of a gentle-
man, he carefully cultivated the moral nature of his son.
In his seventh year, William Phelan was sent to a day-school, kept
by Mr. Michael Eyan, whom bishop Jebb describes as an expert Latin-
ist, — a pedant, an amiable enthusiast, and a diligent instructor. He was
ignorant of Greek, but grounded his pupil so thoroughly in Latin, that
he afterwards confessed the great extent of his obligations for his facility
and skill in that language.
At fourteen years of age he was removed to the school of the Eev.
E. Carey, a gentleman whose accomplished scholarship and most amiable
character are so attractively described by bishop Jebb, that we regret
we cannot afford to transcribe his account of this worthy man and pro-
found scholar. Between him and his gifted pupil a warm and mutual
friendship grew, which naturally, under their wide disparity of age,
seems to have assumed a parental and filial form.
This affection had, perhaps, its share in bringing about an important
change in Phelan's history.
Mr. Carey was a Protestant clergyman. Phelan was, in common
with all the members of his family, in the communion of the church of
Eome. One day as he was walking with a young acquaintance, a
member of a lay fraternity of that church, to translate for him a por-
tion of the Breviary, Mr. Carey rode by. " What a pity," said his
companion, " that that good man cannot be saved." — " I started," said
Phelan, who himself was the teller of the story; "the doctrine of ex-
clusive salvation never appeared so prodigious, and I warmly denied its
truth and authority. ***** Was stubborn in its defence, and
we each cited testimonies in behalf of our respective opinions. I with-
drew to bed, — occupied by thoughts which this incident awakened, —
went over again all the arguments, pro and cow, which my memory
could supply, — weighed all the evidence which, in my judgment, might
throw light on the subject, — questioned whether any evidence could
induce me to acquiesce in a dogma so revolting ; — and fell asleep, in no
good disposition to the creed which could pronounce Mr. Carey's re-
probation. In the morning, when I awoke, it appeared that I had in-
sensibly reasoned myself into the belief of the right of private judg-
PKRIOD.] WILLIAM PHELAtf. 419
ment; and thus I virtually reasoned myself out of the church of
Rome."*
It was his father's wish that he should enter Maynooth and study for
orders in the Papal church. He was induced to answer at an ex-
amination held in Waterford for some vacancies in that seminary, and
so pleased his examiners, that he was chosen for one of them, but this
he declined to accept of.
In 1806 he had taken his part; he entered college in Dublin as a sizar,
and gave his name as a Protestant. Any doubts which may be supposed
to have lingered on his mind soon vanished with the able assistance of
the tutor under whom it was his good fortune to enter. This worthy
and most able man was fully competent to appreciate, at their just value,
the goodness and the rich intellectual gifts of his pupil. And during
many years, until the attainment of a fellowship placed Phelan at
ease in circumstances, he found in his tutor a friend equally ready to
aid his studies or administer to his wants. It is indeed creditable to the
university to be observed, with what uniformity the ablest and most
highly endowed scholars appear to have thus frankly and liberally taken
into a relationship of confidence and kindness a poor sizar. From the
time he first left his father's roof, to work his way to independence
and reputation through a long succession of laborious years, we find
Phelan the cherished friend of the wisest and best he could have met
in the walks of learning — in which we have no hesitation to affirm the
best and wisest are to be found.
But there is a feature of his mind which, with most affecting con-
stancy and power, appears through every part of Phelan's life — the
devotedness of filial love. This virtue is, it is to be trusted, not un-
common ; but its amount, in the present instance, was peculiar. While
he was in the poor and distressing condition, in which he had at the
same time to earn his bread by teaching, and to pursue an unremitting
and arduous course of study, his most earnest anxiety was to improve
the condition and add to the personal comfort of his parents ; — and he
was content to deny himself every advantage, if his industry could en-
able him to make a substantial remittance home.
The highest honours which the college had to award, were to Phelan
a matter of course. He carried the premiums in every branch of study.
At the usual time a scholarship made his condition comparatively one of
independence. And, on taking his degree, he had entitled himself to
the gold medal, then awarded for the very severe test of uniform judg-
ments at every examination according to rather a nice and not very se-
cure standard. We can well recollect some of the best answerers among
our class-fellows to have complained of having the judgments of four-
teen examinations nullified (so far as this honour), by the one bene
more than this slippery test allowed. The award seemed in such in-
stances a hardship, and sometimes unjust, when weighed in the very
partial balance o'f disappointment. But it was to a precision which
caused many to fail, that this reward owed its value. A still more satis-
factory achievement, was Law's mathematical premium of £50, — the
candidates for this were usually the best mathematicians of their class ;
— the examiners were Magee, Brinkley, and Davenport.
* Jebb's Memoir of Phelan, p. 1 1 : London : 1832.
420 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
The Fellowship was the next object of attainment to be looked for.
With a constitution already impaired by laborious application — and
scanty resources, hardly earned by extra labour in teaching — Phelan
entered upon this arduous undertaking. It is mentioned by his reverend
biographer, that it was his wont to read and lecture from four in the
morning until ten or eleven at night. It is also stated, that in the
course of this assiduous application, he met with frequent interruptions
from the visits of his fellow-students, — sometimes from the kind desire
to compel a brief intermission of his wearying toil, and sometimes to
seek his assistance in those difficulties so familiar to most mathematical
students. On these latter occasions the good bishop tells us, that
" often, with a shade before his weak eyes, his temples bathed in vine-
gar, and his mind engaged on some difficult problem, has he cheerfully
paused from his labours, and, with alacrity, applied himself to remove
the scientific difficulties (not of his pupils, that was a distinct duty to
be performed at stated intervals), but of some junior friend or acquain-
tance." We also take the following statement from the same venerable
authority. " Throughout the fellowship course, his kind tutor, Mr.
Wall,* regarded him not merely as a friend, but as a brother. Books,
experience, literary counsel, were ever ready at a call, — his purse, too,
was always generously open ; and he often entreated that it might be
allowed to supersede the necessity, which the young candidate felt im-
posed upon him, of taking pupils. This aid, offered, as it was, with
most scrupulous delicacy, was sometimes accepted with manly freedom.
One restriction, however, he almost invariably imposed upon himself;
he never would consent (unless when himself wholly unprovided) to
employ the resources, even of his dearest friends, in aiding his beloved
and respected parents."
For three years after his Bachelor's degree was this heavy course of
exertion pursued. At the end of this term, it became perceptible that
his health required some change ; and his medical adviser ordered that
he should relax his exertions, and sleep in country air. He took a
small lodging near town. Under these circumstances it occurred to
him to write an essay for the prize of £50 proposed by the Royal Irish
Academy. The very peculiar circumstances accompanying this exertion
are fully stated in the memoir from which we take our main accounts.
It was written in the hurried intervals of harder work, on scraps of
paper and backs of letters, and transcribed by his brother. But it is a
curious fact, that, having been long accustomed to Latin composition,
" he felt so much difficulty in arranging his thoughts in our language,
that he resorted to the expedient of first mentally composing in Latin."
In Latin composition he possessed a skill and excellence rarely indeed
attained, — a skill which won the admiration of Dr. Hall, one of the
* It must be unnecessary to apprize many of our readers, that the gentleman men-
tioned here is Dr. Wall, the author of a work which is universally known to those
who have any claim to literary reputation ; and which will, hereafter, be recog-
nised as having anticipated the progress of much profound research in arriving at
the exposure of the fallacies, and laying bare the prejudices of speculative enthu-
siasm. And we take this occasion to point the reader's attention to the ample ex-
posure which his learned work contains, of the false and pernicious theories con-
cerning the antiquity of nations.
PERIOD.] WILLIAM PHELAtf. 421
most finished classical scholars of his time. Of one of Phelan's essays,
this gentleman was heard to say, that " whole passages might have
been taken from it, and wiljiout risk of detection inserted in the works
of Cicero."
His essay was successful, though his competitor was a scholar well-
known for an admirable style of English prose, and very superior
attainments in the dialectics of controversy; John Walker, once a fellow.
But Walker, with all his training, was not what Phelan eminently was,
and what is an essential to success in the discussion of practical ques-
tions, a man of sound common sense. In the following year, 1814,
Phelan obtained a second prize for a still superior composition, which
has not been published, as the MS. was lost at the Academy House.
In 1813 he sat for fellowship the first time. His answering was
generally considered to place him second, and as there were three vacan-
cies, little doubt was entertained of his success. But the result did not
answer such expectations : for, from some defect in the Statute, of
which Bishop Jebb, who is our authority, does not sufficiently explain
the application to his case, Phelan lost by the casting vote of the
provost. It is mentioned by the bishop, that, in expectation of success,
he had set apart nearly all his cash for remittance to his father. In the
moment of disappointment, when likely to feel most the want of such
relaxation as money only can procure, his words to his brother are
memorable, " Well James, send the money nevertheless to its proper
destination ; and, my dear fellow, have a good heart, and a hope fixed
on high ; we shall overcome even this blow."
Another little incident connected with this occasion is not to be
omitted. " A few days after this disappointment, he met Dr. Graves,
one of his examiners ; who, in his kind sympathizing manner, said,
* Phelan, I am sorry for you, but I did my best, you had my vote,' he
bowed, smiled, and instantly answered, ' Victrix causa Diis placuit,
sed victa Catoni.' " The bishop mentions that on this occasion very hand-
some and liberal offers of assistance came from Lord Plunkett, who ad-
vised him. to study for the bar, and " pressed on him an allowance of
£300 a-year," which Phelan thankfully declined.
There was no friend, however, more efficient in cheering, encourag-
ing, and assisting him than Dr. Magee, who, says bishop Jebb, " was
in the constant habit of visiting his chambers, inquiring after his pro-
gress, and entering into all the misgivings of his sensitive mind."
In the following year he again sat for the fellowship, but a new can-
didate had now come forward, with mathematical knowledge far above
the ordinary standard, and Phelan was once more disappointed. The
vacant fellowship was awarded to Dr. Robinson. It must, indeed, be
said, that so far as we have been enabled to estimate Phelan's talents,
•so far as we can take into account the opinion of others, we should say
that the fellowship examination was not precisely their proper criterion.
His understanding was essentially theoretical and speculative, and,
except in a few instances, such minds are not the most fitted for the
repositories of detail. The length at which bishop Jebb has, at this
point of his memoir, discussed the peculiarities of Phelan's mind, renders
it impossible that we can avail ourselves of his (generally) just remarks.
But we may say, that we have very commonly observed in such minds
422 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
as he there describes, that is to say, having a strong characteristic ten-
dency to ethical and metaphysical speculation, some distaste towards
the more practical applications, both of mathematics and every thing
else. We are far from presuming to offer this as a general rule, and
still farther from applying it here; yet it would not be difficult to prove
the general probability of its application.
On this second disappointment, he seems to have abandoned the
hope of obtaining a fellowship ; and became for a time the guest of the
Rev. Mr. Stubbs, who had also been a candidate. In October 1814,
on the recommendation of Dr. Magee, then Dean of Cork, he was ap-
pointed second master of the endowed school of Derry, and entered
into holy orders. For two years he continued to officiate in the chapel-
of-ease in that city ; during which time he had the happiness to
become acquainted with his worthy and venerable biographer Mr. Jebb,
then rector of Abingdon. It is stated that at this time also, at the
desire of this friend, he published his well-known pamphlet, " The
Bible not the Bible Society ;" which his biographer observes, " gave
a colouring nearly to the whole of Mr. Phelan's future life."
At this period he had been long in a very delicate state of health ;
insomuch that his physicians recommended a visit to Mallow, but a
favourable change appearing, this inconvenient advice was not followed.
In 1817 Dr. Wall strongly urged that he should once more try his for-
tune on the fellowship bench. Dr. Magee also strongly joined, and after
six weeks of close study, he took his seat in the Hall, without much
hope of success. This time he was nevertheless the successful candidate,
and was enabled during the long vacation to seek the repose which he
so much required and had so well earned.
In 1818 he was elected Donnellan Lecturer. Of his lectures we may
speak, if space permits, at the close of this life.
But in the interval of time previous to his election to the fellowship,
Phelan had formed an attachment to the sister of his friend Mr. Stubbs,
and, it will easily be conceived, that content was no more to be looked
for in the gown of a fellow, then (as he might happen to feel) the free
possessor, or the martyr of single blessedness. To escape from this
undesired alternative, Phelan endeavoured to obtain a royal dispensa-
tion, but without success. In the meantime, the death of the parent
of the young lady, decided his conduct, and on the 18th May, 1823,
he was married to Miss Stubbs, by her brother the vicar of Kilmacahill.
This step made it necessary to resign his fellowship, which he did with
an understanding (the free concession of the provost and fellows) that
he should have his option of a living, when such should come down to
his standing. The junior fellows also relinquished in his favour all
emolument from his chamber of pupils so long as they should remain on
the books. The amount thus secured was about £900. This union
contributed to his happiness, and, from the language of bishop Jebb,
we should form the most exalted estimate of the worth, the intellect,
and admirable qualifications in every way of the lady who thus con-
tributed to the welfare and contentment of such a man.
After his marriage, Phelan retired to the curacy of Ready, which had
been some time kept open for him by the Primate. The Armagh Pro-
fessorship of Astronomy having become vacant, he applied for it, but
PEJUOD.] WILLIAM PHELAN. 423
Professor Robinson had been appointed two days before ; an appoint-
ment, the propriety of which must have removed all sense of dis-
appointment from a mind so candid and just as Phelan's. And such
is the fact stated by bishop Jebb, who tells us that "he was satis-
fied it did the Primate much honour," and adds, in a note, " The
observations of Dr. Robinson have been more numerous, and have
excited greater attention, than those made at any other observatory
within the same period."
The laborious duties of a curate were not suited to the delicate health
and deranged constitution of Phelan : but he was, in a very high degree,
effective and popular as a preacher; having, much to his praise, toned
down his elaborate and metaphysical style to the measure of the intel-
lects and spiritual wants of a simple country flock.
In the spring of .1824 he was appointed by the primate to the rec-
tory of Killyman in the diocese of Armagh. The circumstances of this
benefice were in every respect satisfactory, in none perhaps more so
than in its vicinity to Armagh, by which his intercourse with the pri-
mate was much facilitated. He became thenceforward one of the ex-
aminers at ordinations held by this prelate. In the following year he
succeeded to the college living of Ardtrea, in consequence of his former
arrangement with the Board.
In 1826 he obtained his doctor's degree, and was appointed examiner
for faculties by the primate.
From this, during the brief remainder of his days, he is said to have
devoted himself in a considerable degree to study, and to have read
much of that circle of philosophers of the higher metaphysical schools,
to which it is not difficult to perceive, by the cast of his later style,
that he had a considerable tendency. But happily in him, this ten-
dency, otherwise liable to much abuse, was counteracted by his still
more thorough devotion to the study of Scripture.
But it had meanwhile become observable to his friends that his
health, never firm, was beginning to decline. An intermitting pulse
had for some years alarmed him occasionally for himself, but this was
generally regarded as a nervous affection. He was directed to abstain
from intense study; but he felt that an alarm about his own state, which
much increased this diseased affection, was only to be counteracted by
study. Between these two opposed conditions he felt much distress:
but a very violent pleurisy decided the alternative, and he lay for five
weeks on a sick-bed, from which he rose in a state of utter debility.
By the primate's advice he removed to Dublin, where his health seemed
to amend, and he returned ; but no sooner did he reach home than the
chest complaint returned with aggravated violence.
In the following year he again visited Dublin, but we are not in-
formed that he received any benefit from the change ; and early in
1830, the bishop mentions that his brother, the Rev. James Phelan, ob-
served in his appearance the signs of approaching dissolution. — We
cannot here, nor is it necessary, follow the melancholy gradation of
changes by which the accuracy of this afflicting anticipation was con-
firmed; he expired without a struggle in June 1830, and was committed
to the grave in Killyman churchyard.
Of Dr. Phelan's writings it is not so easy to offer decisive opinions
4-24 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
as we had anticipated. There is in his earlier productions a superior-
ity of style and composition, arising from the perspicuity of his under-
standing, and the correctness of his ear: in his later and more impor-
tant writings it appears that his metaphysical tendency, and perhaps
in some degree an excessive elaboration, has deprived his language of
that force and simplicity which gave effect to his early writings. It
should however be added that these latter are posthumous publications;
and it must also be said that they contain speculations of great value,
and passages of much eloquence.
They chiefly consist of his Donellan lectures, of which the main pur-
pose is a statement of the arguments which arise from the moral design
and operation of the form, structure, and successive dispensations of re-
vealed religion. In surveying the course of his expositions, whatever
may be the just critical estimate of his bold speculations on the earlier
institutions of religion, (we shall not enter upon them, as they call for
prolonged discussion,) there can be little diversity of opinion upon the
justness of his views of the adaptation of the latter dispensation to the
wants of man, and to the declared purposes of God : and still less on
the beauty and truth of his conception of our Lord's character, which
he illustrates with much and instructive application.
The whole suggests a view of the peculiar moral structure of the
author's mind. We have in him, as in a few other able and good men,
been very much struck by the value they have appeared to attach to
moral proofs and the inferences from what is called internal evidence ;
together with a tendency to undervalue that external evidence arising
from facts and from those relations of circumstance and event which
are more exclusively addressed to the intellect. — We are persuaded that
this tendency is accompanied by a general want of sympathy with
the processes of ordinary minds; on which, so far as mere argument
is concerned, the ordinary deductions of reason from circumstance are
effectual to the full extent that argument has any power: while moral
reasoning (considered simply as argument) has the least conceivable
effect. It requires a moral sensibility, confined to few, to give to moral
truths that matter of fact prominence which is essential to the basis of
inference. But there is an important distinction as to the real power
of moral proof, too often lost sight of by those who have given undue
value to the moral argument : moral indications have indeed the most
powerful effect on ordinary minds, but it is not in the shape of argu-
ment, or as directed to the reason — it is from the operative efficacy of
moral influences on the breast. It is one thing to show that there ex-
ists such an influence and that it works in such a way, and another to
turn the light arid warmth of this influence on the breast, — the one may
perplex philosophers, while children will feel the other. The one is as
the science which explains the theory of light — but the other is the
light itself. Let it however be understood that these strictures are not
meant to be applied to the able and eloquent writer of the sermons
which have led to them, but to an opinion held by a class, and often
strongly put forth ,- an opinion which, so far as it goes, has a pernicious
tendency, as it leads some to speak slightingly of the only evidences
which either revealed religion, or any thing else, can have. The internal
evidence is directed to those who are within — who know it because they
PERIOD.] JOHN JEBB. 425
feel it ; as confirmation it is all in all, but it never has and never will
tell upon the sceptic, farther than as a portion of truth by which a great
argument is completed, or as supplying the moral theory from which
numerous important objections can be met.
With respect to all the portions of Dr. Phelan's lectures which bear
directly on the exposition of the character of our Lord, we attach the
highest value to them in a more important respect. For of one thing
we are perfectly convinced, that the contemplation of the Saviour is
the very essence of all that is practical in Christianity. Hence alone
the divine example, the love, the union with God in him, the restora-
tion of the divine image; when his true followers, "beholding as in a
glass the glory of the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory
to glory." — And the same may more or less be said of Phelan's entire
commentary on the Christian dispensation.
, Bishop of Kiatecfffc*
BORN 1775 — DIED 1833.
THE family of the Jebbs have been distinguished for their literary ta-
lent. They are traced to ancestors for many generations inhabiting
Mansfield in Nottinghamshire. Richard Jebb, the eldest son of Samuel
Jebb of Mansfield, settled in Ireland. His son John became an alder-
man of Drogheda; he had two sons, the late Mr. Justice Jebb and the
subject of this memoir, who was born 1775 in the city of Drogheda.
Two years after his birth his father fell into commercial embarrass-
ments, and he was taken under the care of his aunt, Mrs. M'Cormick.
Under this most excellent lady the bishop has commemorated his early
training to piety. He is himself described by his brother as having at
that early age been "a gentle, affectionate child, somewhat hasty in
temper but not bold; quiet and fond of reading, lively and loving play."
He is also mentioned as in a very remarkable degree manifesting at that
early period, a love of order, such that his eye was offended by any ir-
regularity of position in a piece of furniture ; a disposition displayed
through his life.
When he reached his seventh year he rejoined his father's family at
Leixlip ; where he continued until he was sent to Celbridge academy
in his eleventh. At this school the delicacy of his moral and perhaps
physical constitution, for a time exposed him to the rude and rough
handling of his more coarsely moulded schoolmates; but from this his
natural prudence and firmness of temper gradually set him free. Here
also his literary tendency was early shown by the composition of a tale
in conjunction with another boy. They supposed themselves travellers
somewhat after the manner of Robinson Crusoe, and wrote "the adveii*
tures of Thomas Curtis and John Jebb;" the master was pleased to
celebrate this juvenile achievement with a holiday.
In 1788, his brother succeeded to the estate of Sir Richard Jebb, and
thenceforth took upon him the cost of his education, and removed him
to the endowed school of Londonderry. This change he always looked
iipon as most happy in its consequences, and providential in all respects,
426 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
both on account of his studies, and the associations to which it led with
those who were the friends of his life; amongst others his friend Alex-
ander Knox. Here he acquired decided literary tastes, and habits of
voluntary study. His play-hours were spent apart over such books as
he could procure, — while it was observed that his sympathy and hu-
manity were shown by his loving to sit with any boy who was sick.
In 1791 he entered college, and went to reside with his brother, the
late Mr. Justice Jebb, who continued to maintain him in college until
the death of their father. At this period Mr. Jebb had reached his 21st
year. He then received ,£2,000 from his brother in lieu of a much
less amount to which he was entitled.
In college he was successful in obtaining premiums, and this rather
by means of his natural turn for application than from any ambitious
desire for these honours. He also, in due time, obtained a scholarship
in the most honourable manner, with best marks from every examiner.
He obtained three premiums for English verse from the college, and two
medals from the Historical Society for the same species of composition.
With the highest reputation for ability, he was still more respected and
regarded for his fine moral qualities, his kindly affections, his freedom
from selfishness, emulation, and every ungenerous failing.
For a time he turned his attention to the Fellowship course, but
after a spring arid summer devoted to mathematics he relinquished the
study, though pressed by his tutor, Dr. Magee, to persevere.
We are forced to pass the various lesser incidents of this period to
that of his entry into holy orders. Several plans of life had been pro-
posed for him, among others the army, in which he might at the time
have entered as a captain, by raising a company : but his inclination,
which had always been for the church, set aside this and all other
projects. He continued to reside in college until the expiration
of his scholarship, in 1799, devoting himself chiefly to theological
studies.
He had, two years before, received a promise of interest with the
bishops from his early friend, Mr. Alexander Knox. Mr. Knox in the
interval became secretary to Lord Castlereagh, and Mr. Jebb, from a
delicate sense of reserve, did not now remind him of his promise.
They met in the streets, and Mr. Knox himself introduced the subject.
The consequence was, an introduction to the bishop of Kilmore, who
consented to receive him into his diocese. In February, 1799, he re-
ceived deacon's orders from Dr. Young, bishop of Clonfert, an illustri-
ous prelate already commemorated in these pages.
By the kindness of Dr. Elrington, he was recommended for a curacy
to Dr. Cleaver, then bishop of Ferns, with an understanding that he
was to be specially "under the eye of the bishop." But he had already
formed his engagement with the bishop of Kilmore, and in July 1799
he received, through Mr. Knox, an invitation to accept of the curacy
of Swadlinbar in that diocese.
We are compelled to abridge this memoir by passing over his exem-
plary conduct in this interval, and shall only observe, that here he
formed his acquaintance with Mr. and Mrs. Latouche of Belview, then
frequenting that place, which, being famed for its medicinal waters,
was much resorted to. In many respects, the accounts of his life in
PERIOD.] JOHN JEBB. 427
this place for four years, and the description of the place itself, both
very much remind us of the similar circumstances in the life of Wolfe.
And there was to some extent a similar result; for though the eminent
scholar now under our notice survived to be an orna*ment to his pro-
fession, it is considered that his constitution received a lasting in-
jury from the severity of his labours, and his exposure to weather and
fatigue.
In Dec. 1799 he received priest's orders from the bishop of Kilmore.
In 1801 he took his degree of A.M., and preached in the College
chapel by the invitation of Dr. Magee. By the same ever kind and
affectionate interest he was, in the following year, invited to preach the
annual sermon before the Lord Lieutenant and members of the Dublin
Association. About this period the bishop of Kilmore was removed to
Cashel, and it was agreed that he should take the first opportunity to
follow. This change was soon effected; he was in the following De-
cember summoned by the archbishop to fill the curacy of Magorban, a
parish of the bishop's near Cashel.
In the brief interval between these appointments, we have it on his
own authority, that a change had taken place in his views both as a
Christian and a minister; and he considered it an advantage that it
should have thus occurred previous to the outset of his ministry in
the new parish.
So far as his personal advantage was to be regarded this change of
place was fortunate ; his duties were considerably lightened, — his time
for study increased, — while the public library of Cashel gave a new
and wide field to his love of literary research. This library was the
bequest of archbishop Bolton, and preserved from ruin at the expense
of archbishop Broderick.
Mr. Jebb's habits of study are mentioned as peculiar. "Desultory
in appearance, his reading was systematized by his turn for arrange-
ment; his mind almost instinctively forming loci communis, to which
he could refer his scattered information." During this period, the most
interesting account is given by Mr. Forster of the bishop's studies, of
the several pursuits and avocations by means of which his knowledge
was extended and his judgment formed. Amongst these, may be
specified his readiness to instruct others and aptness to communicate
the results of his reading. His correspondence with Mr. Knox is also
mentioned, and to those who are acquainted with that gentleman's cor-
respondence, it may be indeed very obvious to what an extent they
influenced the opinions of Mr. Jebb.
In 1805 he was employed by the archbishop to examine the candi-
dates for ordination, — the examination lasted for three mornings. He
was to preach the ordination sermon, but on Saturday evening he found
himself very ill, and without a page of his sermon yet written. After a
few hours' sleep he was called at twelve, and sat up till morning at his
task: the sermon thus composed in a few hours attracted general ap-
probation and was afterwards published at the .request of the bishop of
Kildare.
It was during this period that his attention was accidentally turned
by Mr. Knox to the subject of parallelisms in the New Testament;
the theological reader is aware of the peculiar interest of the subject
428 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
and of the able essay published many years after by Mr. Jebb, pre-
senting the result of his critical labours upon it.*
In 1809 his health seems to have suffered, and he became subject to
nervous depression. By Mr. Knox's desire he joined him in an ex-
cursion to England. In this tour he became acquainted with Hannah
More, Wilberforce, and other persons of the same high spiritual
stamp.
In the summer of this year he was appointed to the rectory of Abing-
don. The change, although in every respect so important as a step in
his profession and as contributing to his means and influence, was yet,
for some years, not conducive to his happiness ; removed from the cir-
cle in which his social feelings and habits had long been taking root,
and where so much delightful intercourse was joined with so many
occasions for the exertion of his practical talents, he found a dreary
solitude, in which his books and pen, from being a solace and a taste,
became a refuge. Among other studies which then soothed and adorned
his intervals of leisure, for his first care was the study of his sacred
calling, the Greek dramas are mentioned. His glebe-house was from
time to time cheered by the visits of many loved relations and friends
— an enjoyment rendered sweeter by the lonely periods they relieved.
It was here he formed an intimacy with the reverend gentleman who
afterwards became successively his curate, domestic chaplain, and bio-
grapher, the Rev. Charles Forster, from whose most interesting memoir
the facts and incidents of this brief outline are drawn. His prospect
gradually appeared to brighten, and a situation of life, which appears
generally cheerless in description, became softened and enlivened by the
habits of a good, well-affectioned Christian temper, and the pursuits of
an enlightened intellect. After a little time the heavy debt for his
glebe-house was paid away, and his means of increasing his library, of
using hospitality and doing good materially augmented. The gloom of
single life, seemingly the heaviest which, after the brilliant spring of
youth has past, can easily enter the mind of man to conceive, was dis-
pelled by a high communion of soul and spirit ; and, happily for Mr.
Jebb, he possessed a love for this communion, known comparatively
to few. His idleness would have been by most men called severe
study: in addition to the necessary labours of his sacred calling, his
leisure was amused with laborious translations from the Greek philo-
sophers and fathers, and extensive criticisms and extracts from the
graver of our English writers.
In 1812 he sustained a painful dislocation of his left shoulder, occa-
sioned by the overturn of a gig in which he was travelling with his
brother-in-law, Mr. M'Cormick. His shoulder was first set by a
blacksmith to whose cabin he was removed. From the ignorant and
clumsy handling of this village bonesetter, he endured the most pro-
tracted anguish with "his characteristic firmness and patience:" The
operation was but apparently completed, and on being submitted to
surgical skill, it was discovered that the joint was yet out of place; the
operation thus required was impeded by the inflammation, and it took
the strength of two persons^ successively applied for more than an
* " Sacred Literature," by Bishop Jebb. 1820.
PERIOD.] JOHN JEBB. 429
hour, to reduce it. From the effects of this accident he was long in
recovering.
In 1818 Mr. Jebb was chiefly occupied in preparing his sermons
for the press, and superintending their publication, for which purpose
he repaired to London, where he was received as a guest by Mr. J. H.
Butterworth of Fleet-street. His volume was undertaken by Messrs.
Cadell and Davies, on the recommendation of Dr. Magee.
In 1819 his great original work on Sacred literature, which had for
many previous years occupied so much of his time and thoughts, was
at length brought to a conclusion. The papers had long lain in his
desk neglected, as their composition had failed to satisfy his own accu-
rate taste: an impulse communicated by his chaplain led to their re-
sumption and completion in "somewhat less than five months;" and in
1820 he proceeded to London to superintend the publication. It would
appear from an incident mentioned by Mr. Forster, that this severe
exertion was productive of some detrimental effect on Mr. Jebb's health,
which led to his subsequent paralytic attack.
The publication of this work extended and confirmed his high repu-
tation. It sold well — was favourably noticed in reviews, and, what
was more important in every sense, was copiously analyzed in Home's
introduction to the study of the Bible.
After his return to Ireland he was presented to the archdeaconry of
Emly. In the next year he took his degrees of B.D. and D.D. at the
February commencements.
On the visit of George IV. to Ireland, his works were presented at
levee to the king by Lord Talbot, who introduced him.
In the formidable popular disturbances which succeeded, his discretion,
firmness and ability were amply tested; and were, under Providence,
the means of arresting the progress of insurrection within the scope
of his parish and vicinity. We cannot here enter into details, but we
must not omit one at least of the valuable testimonies to the result.
An eminent English barrister passing on that line of country, had his
attention directed by the coachman to Mr. Jebb's glebe-house, seen
from the coach at a distance of four miles: "That house," said the
coachman, "is the house of archdeacon Jebb; the parish in which
it stands is the only quiet district in the country; and its quiet is en-
tirely owing to the character and exertions of the Protestant rector."
We may here observe that the disturbances by which Ireland is thus
fatally characterized, are in few instances what we should, properly
speaking, term local. They are carried on by a floating scum of ill-
conditioned miscreants, of which a plentiful secretion must needs take
place from the lower classes of a poor, ill-educated, and misgoverned
country. This loose drift of adventurers rule their peaceful and indus-
trious countrymen, and in agitated periods kindle evil passions and
control the better affections wherever they obtain a footing. The mass
are uniformly disposed to peaceful industry, just in their apprehensions,
eminently alive to kindness, and sensible of worth. In later years this
good spirit has increased, and the evil elements are, we trust, diminish-
ing. Mr. Jebb's parishioners ^ad come to an understanding, which
proves how well they were' guided. The attack of the rector's house
was to have been the signal for a levee en masse of his parishioners, to
430 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. '[SlXTH
repel the assailants and cast them out from the parish. Resolutions
drawn up by Mr. Jebb were universally signed, and firmly adhered to.
From the king and parliament these truly meritorious services met
with the notice they so well deserved. His conduct was referred to,
and his resolutions cited, in the house and by the public press.
In the next year he was appointed to the see of Limerick ; and it is
gratifying to read of the demonstrations of sincere and heartfelt joy
with which the people received the news. Among his first arrange-
ments on entering on the duties of the diocese, one claims our more
immediate notice; his care to provide that the candidates for holy orders
should be adequately prepared for the duties of their momentous and
high calling. This we regard as practically the most important func-
tion of the overseer of the church. We have in our memoir of arch-
bishop Magee, fully stated the main circumstances which at the time
rendered this duty more than ordinarily important. We have only
now to observe, that Jebb, in unison with Magee, took the most effec-
tual steps to secure this due and needful preparation, by the care they
took at these examinations. But the bishop of Limerick mainly con-
tributed to this desirable end by arranging and making universally
known a course of authors. He adopted from his own experience a
maxim which he used to repeat from Dr. Anthony Tuckriey, who,
when " according to the cant of his times," he was called to elect none
but "the godly," replied, that he "would choose none but scholars, add-
ing, very wisely, ' they may deceive me in their godliness ; they can-
not in their scholarship' " The bishop was, of course, careful in the
adoption of the important negative test which reputation affords : but
he knew that God alone is the judge of hearts, and that to himself was
committed to ascertain what is given to the faculties of human sense.
He printed his courses for circulation, and they were soon adopted by
other prelates, so far as (perhaps) was possible. The particulars
of his arrangements may be seen in Mr. Forster's memoir (pp. 237 —
243) ; they quickly influenced the studies of those who were reading
for orders ; and Mr. Forster notices that several valuable works on
sacred subjects had their rise in the studies thus occasioned.
In the second year of his episcopate he was summoned to parlia-
ment. It is needless to dwell at length upon the noble stand which he
then made against a great and powerful faction, of which it was the
immediate object to overthrow the Irish branch of -the church. For
this purpose the ordinary machinery of party attack had been with
more than usual freedom and effect put into requisition, falsehood
and calumny were used with more than ordinary daring, and received
with more than the common credulity of the world. The secular dis-
positions of mankind are hostile to Christianity, and the grasping acqui-
sitiveness of human nature has always looked with a grudging eye on
the smallest pittance which has appeared to be sacrificed to interests
not included in the scope of political economy. Every misrepresenta-
tion which the lowest industry could rake together against the clergy,
was received with ready credence and little contradiction. Their humble
means of living were exaggerated into bloated wealth, their usefulness
was questioned and denied, the persecutions of which they were then
the objects exalted into a just discontent at wrongful burthens. Tho
PERIOD.] JOHN JEBB. 431
Irish clergy are not prompt to take tlieir own part, and those who
should have been their protectors looked for a share of their spoil.
They had no party, no political bulwark, there was a powerful spirit
let loose, of which the object was their destruction, and if there had not
been a higher arm outstretched to control, limit and extract good from
the work of evil, they had surely been destroyed ; for never has any
human institution so fiercely assailed and so little defended been known
to survive.
To face this impending storm, the bishop repaired to London ; Mr.
Forster presents a pleasing picture of his reception, the friends he asso-
ciated with (the best minds of the day), and the mode of life he led.
But we must confine our attention to the main incidents which belong
to his memory and to the history of his time. Until the 10th of July
he had spoken in the house but on two occasions ; they were both
illustrative of that firm devotion to a duty that wastes no power on
any other purpose, and lets no point escape unheeded which concerns
it. Once he stood up to vindicate the archbishop of Dublin, from the
envenomed calumnies of which such a man must have been the object;
and once more to defend a private clergyman from the anticrusading
spirit that assailed the humble as fiercely as the exalted. In the mean
time, the bishop had ample opportunities of observing the fatal and
deadly elements then (and still) in active operation. The animosity
against the church, the infidel temper out of which it emanated, the
revolutionary spirit that gave power and motive for an assault on the
main buttress of the constitution, the ignorance of Ireland, and of its
church that neutralized better sense and principle, the low venality of
that class who would crucify their Lord again for twenty-five per cent.,
and gladly exchange the Christian's birthright for church lands. All
this, which would demand a volume to authenticate as matter of his-
tory, was legibly stamped on the aspect of that destructive crisis, in
which this good, brave, and able champion stood out in the high and
enduring cause of God. On the day referred to, the Tithe Commuta-
tion Bill was brought forward by the Earl of Liverpool. Of the
bishop's speech on that occasion, we cannot conveniently speak in the
detail which it deserves ; and to convey a just impression of it must
have recourse to abler pens than our own, and for this shall take some
extracts of Mr. Forster's, with the judicious remarks by which he intro-
duces them.
Mr. Knox, who measured the coming storm with the eye of a philo-
sopher, while he felt its approach in the spirit of a true son of the
church of England, thus conveys the impression made upon him by
the bishop's able speech. " The subject was continually before me ;
and I saw not how the multifarious falsehoods which were gaining
more and more the blind acquiescence of even well meaning persons,
were to be competently met and refuted. It was lamentably obvious
that too many did not care, and none thoroughly knew any thing about
the matter. This desideratum your speech has supplied, and if the
clergy and friends of our Irish branch of the anglican church do not
feel themselves more obliged to you than to any other individual for
the last hundred years, I can only say they see the business with eyes
differing from mine."
432 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
One of the last survivors of the Augustan age of British oratory,
himself a brilliant model, as well as a veteran judge of parliamentary
eloquence, Mr. Wilberforce, in a letter to a common friend, has happily
left on record the estimate which he had formed of the varied merits of
this speech, and of the rank to which it stood entitled in the annals of
parliamentary debate. Writing in the following September, Mr. Wil-
berforce asks, " Have you read the bishop of Limerick's speech ? It is
one of the most able ever delivered in parliament ; and I cannot but
feel some indignation, when I remember the coldness with which it was
spoken of by many who ought to have felt its excellencies with a
keener relish. But they did not expect a debate, and were in a hurry
to get away to their dinners."
The coldness here alluded to, so far as it prevailed, arose, it is to be
feared, from a very different cause ; and Mr. Knox has assigned it ;
"it was lamentably obvious that many did not care anything about the
matter." Upon this occasion, the bishop found the advantage, and his
opponents felt the effects, of his early training in the debates of the Irish
Historical Society. His perfect self-possession, and in particular, his
happy readiness in rejoinder, made, and left a powerful impression. When
describing with the graphic fidelity of one who had seen and known
what he described, the poverty and privations of late years endured by
the Irish clergy, he was assailed with loud cries of "hear! hear! hear!"
from the opposition benches. " Yes, my lords," was his instant reply,
in a voice which at once restored silence and attention, " and I say
hear ! hear ! hear ! and I wish the noble lords who cheer, would accom-
pany me to Ireland, and there visit the humble residences of the paro-
chial clergy, and there see with their own eyes, the shifts and expe-
dients to which those respectable men are reduced. One noble Baron,
I am sure from his generous nature, would, on his return to this house,
place himself by my side, and say to your lordships, listen to this pre-
late : what he tells you is the truth."
" The effect of this speech upon the public mind was long seen and
felt, in the altered tone of general conversation. Those calumnies
which had once borrowed the stamp and obtained for a time, the cur-
rency of sterling truth, instead of being loudly urged, were now scarcely
whispered. For a season, at least, a better spirit, more just, because
more generous, prevailed. The strict parliamentary scrutiny into the
state of Ireland, and into the revenues of the Irish branch of the united
church, subsequently carried into effect, has served only to exemplify
and prove the accuracy of bishop Jebb's statements. And if his
memorable speech on the church in Ireland, shall cease to be produc-
tive of the most valuable and growing benefits to his native country, it
can be only in consequence of statesmen closing the eyes of their under-
standing to the important truths which it assembles, and the no less
important principles which it unfolds." To this passage Mr. Forster
adds the following important note ; " Since writing the above, ample
justice has been done to this part of my subject, in the published speech
of the bishop of London, in the House of Lords, August 24, 1835." It
is with no common satisfaction that I add this recent and public tribute
to the testimonies borne at the time, by Mr. Knox and Mr. Wilber-
force. " Is it not obvious," observes that eminent prelate, " that they
PERIOD.] JOHN JEBB. 433
(the Koman peasantry of Ireland) must be injured, and not benefited,
by the withdrawal from among them of the most constantly resident,
the most active, the most benevolent class of the Irish gentry ? Is that
description too strong ? Permit me, my lords, to confirm its truth by
quoting the words of one, who, while he lived, was one of the brightest
ornaments of the Irish church, and who died, deeply regretted by all its
friends, the late bishop Jebb. That excellent prelate delivered a speech
in this house, in the year 1824, which he afterwards printed, and which
has since been republished. It well deserves the perusal of every one
who wishes to understand the real state of the church in Ireland. The
statements which that speech contains have long been before the pub-
lic, and to this day, my lords, not one of them has been controverted.
The testimony of bishop Jebb, valuable as it is in itself, is the more so,
because it is the testimony of one who was at all times animated with
a spirit of the utmost liberality and kindness towards the Roman Cath-
olics, and who, as he deserved, was respected and loved by them in
return."
Among the high qualities of bishop Jebb's mind, there was, perhaps,
none more truly deserving of admiration, though none so little likely
to conciliate the respect of men, as his moderation, arising as it did from
no fallacious liberalism, but from a temper, at the same time Christian
and philosophic. In all things, but most of all in the concerns of re-
ligion, the tendency of the human mind is to extremes. The vulgar
understanding can take no other hold of great general truths ; and
among the better minds, it is too often by opposition they are held.
This will be easily exemplified in politics, but still easier in religion, in
which it has been the fruitful principle of a hundred shades of schism.
The bishop's sober-minded liberality was shown in his kindly conver-
sation with the clergy of the church of Rome ; an intercourse unvi-
tiated by the slightest taint of concession. He could join them cor-
dially in the offices of charity and love, nor was he constrained by any
fear of pharisaical censure in his intercourse among them, which was
frank and affectionate. But when a very decided and extensive in-
crease of conversions from that church took place in his diocese, he
was not withheld by any weak tendency to compromise from taking
the post which properly should belong to a prelate of the church, in
front of the movement. As he had never been impelled by the zeal of
proselytism, so his own popularity did not restrain him from his duty.
In the parish of Askeaton, a large conversion of upwards of 470 persons
had occurred, under the faithful and judicious care of the Protestant
minister of the parish, Mr. Murray. To this new congregation bishop
Jebb had determined to preach two sermons on the liturgy, for their
confirmation and instruction, as well as to declare his sanction ; but
this was not permitted.
We now come to the last period of this good man's life, a period full
of instruction were it permitted us to enter upon the detail of its affect-
ing course. A sudden stroke of paralysis, at once ended his active
labours in the church, and sent him to strive for the remainder of his
days with a complaint which, though to him it was providentially
lightened in an unusual degree, never ceased to press upon the powers
of life, till in a few more years it put a period to his innocent and use-
VOL. vi. 2 E
434 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
ful course. From this we must content ourselves with a mere out-
line.
The bishop was seated at dinner with his chaplain, when he was
attacked with a sensation of numbness, extending so rapidly that he
had only time to direct that his physician should be sent for, before he
was speechless. By great care he recovered his consciousness ; and
slowly after a severe struggle, during which the best medical advice
was obtained, recovered so far as to be considered out of immediate
danger, and what was more important, in the full possession of reason
and speech. To this merciful disposition of providence, he owed the
comfort and utility of his remaining years. We may add, that during
the heaviest period of his suffering, his composure, thought for others,
recollections of duties, and tenderness for friends are very remarkably
apparent in Mr. Forster's narrative. The affecting sympathy and
kindliness of all classes, particularly the titular bishop and priests of
the Roman church, are also brought into a clear and striking light.
It is needless to trace a course which we cannot bring distinctly to
the view. The bishop was removed to England, where he pursued his
studies with an assiduity not often equalled by the most diligent stu-
dents in unbroken health. It seems during this period to have been
his aim chiefly to bring such theological writings into notice as he con-
sidered most practically useful. And Dr. Townson's discourses gave an
agreeable occupation to his mind. He also entered with earnest zeal
into the political questions which at that time so disastrously affected
the church, and through it the state of England. The letter in which
his sentiments were then expressed, breathes the soundest sense, and
has indeed received the sure confirmation of events. He also joined
the clergy of his diocese in a petition on the same subject, in which
the same view is uncompromisingly conveyed. In 1829 he suffered a
second attack of paralysis, which fell on the limbs which had been pre-
viously attacked : and though the symptoms were less severe, yet
they left him additionally disabled ; he became more exclusively con-
fined to his chair : a striking mark of his frame of mind, still regard-
ing life but in relation to its useful employment, is mentioned by his
biographer. On the day of his attack, he was heard to say with a
cheerful countenance, " Well, Townson is done at any rate."
In the same year he published these discourses, and entered on the
preparation for the press of his sermons on the liturgy, which he
afterwards published in the following year. He had been chiefly resi-
dent at Leamington, but finally removed to the vicinity of London, and
took his abode at East Hill, near Wandsworth. His decline seems to
have been progressively hastened by successive attacks of illness, and
by the constant repetition of bleeding to guard against paralysis. All
this was, however, not sufficient to arrest his zeal and his literary dili-
gence; and he was efficiently watched over, and kept in the best condi-
tion that nature could admit, by the friendly zeal and the profound skill
of Sir Henry Halford. He still found benefit from occasional visits to
Leamington. And notwithstanding the occasional returns of languor
and spasmodic affections, he proceeded with extraordinary despatch
and efficiency in the editorial labours he had undertaken. On one occa-
sion, shortly before his death, he expressed himself in these character-
PERIOD.] JOHN.JEBB. 435
istic words to Mr. Forster, " Well, the more I think of it, the more I
am full of wouder and thankfulness at the goodness of Providence to
me." A thankfulness surely arising from the most entire resignation,
and a mind wholly turned from the deceits of the world to the " things
*bove." From his very infirmities this good man derived a pleasur-
able sense ; having one evening rung ft>r the servants to carry him to
his bed, he thus addressed his chaplain, " It's a pleasant thing, Mr.
Forster, to be brought to the state of a little child ; to be put to bed ;
to see it coming on ; I thank God for it." It is indeed beautifully
apparent through the latter portion of Mr. Forster's narrative, how
wholly the bishop's heart was with God, and where all his thoughts
had rest.
In 1831 he prepared and published a memoir of the Rev. William
Phelan, amidst the increasing returns of his distressing languor. In
this year he received a trying shock from the death of his friend Alex-
ander Knox. He still, in every interval that could be gained from his
distressing infirmities, endeavoured with a conscientious sentiment of
responsibility to dispose of his strength for the advantage of the Church.
His labours were chiefly bestowed on the revival of such old English
divines as he considered likely to be seviceable to the promotion of
piety.
In 1832 he was attacked with jaundice, which rose to an alarming
height. It was conquered by medical skill ; but is considered to
have been the forerunner of his death. He had regained his ordinary
state of spirits, and was even projecting larger labours than he had been
for many years engaged in : the first effort, however, discovered to
him that he had overrated his strength : and by several passages in
Mr. Forster's narrative, it becomes easy to understand that he was at
the time himself fully sensible of his approaching departure. The
death of Wilberforce seems to have drawn a strong expression of this
feeling. He nevertheless was, with his wonted activity of mind, medi-
tating a new edition of Berkely's " Minute Philosopher," when he re-
ceived an intimation which turned out to be the last. One evening
when he was about to retire, seeing the disappointment expressed in
his chaplain's countenance, he mentioned what he would otherwise
have suppressed, " I have had a pain about my heart the whole day,
and I feel quite worn out with it." From this there was a short
struggle ; and then the jaundice again rose to its height. Sir Henry
Halford resumed his attendance, and desired that he should endeavour
to sit up for some time every day ; but to this, after two trials, the
bishop found himself unequal. We shall not attempt to convey the
affecting impression of this good Christian's death-bed scenes, because
we cannot afford to follow the details of Mr. Forster's statement, which
we should only mutilate to no effect. It was, indeed, the lively exem-
plification often found in the Christian's death-bed, and nowhere else,
of all that humanity can be under the renewing power of grace. His
departure took place in December 1833, in the fifty-ninth year of his
age.
Bishop J ebb's writings are too long in the hands of the public to re-
quire any comment from our pen in the nature of a critical estimate.
Nor has it been our custom, in the prosecution of these memoirs, unless
436 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
in the case of important unpublished writings, or when the duty of
stricture has been imposed upon us by a sentiment of civil or Christian
obligation. It would be a boundless labour, and demand far more know-
ledge and skill than we can truly pretend to award merits on fine dis-
tinctions in the scale of orthodoxy. Nevertheless in this, as it has hap-
pened in some other cases, there is that on which we are in duty bound
to offer some comment. We advert to the opinions long and forcibly
put forward by the bishop and his friend, and master Alexander Knox,
clarum et venerabile nomen, most speciously in point of reason and most
worthily in respect to design, but with a most fatal oversight of con-
sequences on the subject of Catholicity as a character of the church.
It is quite evident from the writings of these two eminent men, that
they neither intended nor foresaw the remote consequences of their
arguments. The enthusiastic study of the fathers, and with these of
the records and monuments of ecclesiastical antiquity, produced but the
natural effect on their minds in placing them under that authoritative
influence (the prestige) of antiquity; the goodness, simplicity, the Chris-
tian graces, the eloquence, the propinquity to the sacred source, gave a
specious weight to these venerable old writers. Their nearer community
of doctrine with the reformed churches, seemed also to put them in the
position of authoritative witnesses : and to men zealous for the defence
of the church, and enamoured of ancient things, it would seem happy
to light upon an argument so persuasive in some respects, in others so
powerful. If we look no further than the theory of opinion, Catholic
consent has the weight of a criterion, though it would be difficult to
raise it into an authority. If the existence of such a criterion be as-
sumed, it must carry, quatenus valeat, much weight as involving the
judgments of good and wise men on some questions, the testimony of
witnesses on others. And if an extra-scriptural rule were to be once
admitted, such a consent, did it but exist in the required degree, would
be perhaps the best assignable. To ingenious intellects it came with
powerful recommendations : its use was honestly adopted, and its dan-
gerous adaptations were too easily overlooked. It was strangely over-
looked how thin a partition separated the truth from the error of the
assumption. The bishop and Mr. Knox saw the application of the argu-
ment by which the central character of their church could be established :
they saw that, abstractedly, there is a degree and species of Catholicity
which arises from the very conditions of truth. It was also plain to their
apprehension, that there was a certain line of divine truth generally
maintained by the writers of the first ages. Now there can be no doubt
that this fact has all the weight which opinion (alone,) can have in a
controverted question. Their immediate purpose did not require that
they should notice the added fact, that the degree of agreement they
appealed to had only relation to unquestioned points, explicitly stated
or plainly and cogently implied in scripture : it was not required that
they should observe, that numerous and varied shades of disagreement,
wherever disagreement was possible, wholly destroyed the authority of
these venerable testimonies in any other sense. They were thus led to
the incautious use of this argument, both by claiming for it an undue
importance and carrying its application too far. This latter charge
applies with particular force to Mr. Knox, whose zeal and fluency some-
PERIOD.] JOHN BARRETT. 437
times went beyond his judgment, and led to incautious language : he
speaks of these early writings as if he considered them an extension of
the gospel. We have little hesitation in assigning to these two emi-
nent writers, the first propagation of those tenets which have since so
largely occupied the attention of the world. The rule of Vincentius,
applied by the bishop with a speciousness which imposed on himself,
as it must have imposed on many, and enforced by the earnest and im-
pressive eloquence of Mr. Knox, was soon caught up with a mighty echo.
The attempt was to establish the church on "other foundations;" to
preach "another gospel" though made with the best and purest intent,
threw open a dangerous question in an insidious form. A rule of evidence
was first made a criterion of the church, and next erected into a rule
of faith. A rule — nugatory precisely where alone it can have any ra-
tional application — where it applies because it is not wanted ; but
which, if it could be admitted, would be found to have no application
in any instance where it is not anticipated and made superfluous by
the plain letter of scripture.
It has been at all times too prevailing an error to support right and
truth by fallacy : it seems to have been a part of Catholic consent, that
the argument by which a truth can be maintained must therefore be
true ; for there is no doctrine and few great truths which have not
found this kind of support. The method has been prescriptively estab-
lished, and the error it involves cannot well be reprehended without
much allowance. It is the mischief which a love of casuistry, and the
narrow scope and wide adventuring of human reason has entailed. It
may however be pleaded in vindication of these two holy men — for
such they were — that if a legitimate and unexceptionable example of
the rule to which they gave their sanction could be found, it would be
precisely that to which they applied it. While it has little value as a
mere criterion, and none whatBver as a rule, it has (if taken in a gen-
eral sense), a very remarkable application as a description of the church
to which they applied it.
Eamtt.
DIED 1821.
OF Dr. Barrett's early history we have not been enabled to learn many
Cticulars. Neither does the still tenor of a life passed rather with
ks than men admit of much variety.
He was the son of a clergyman at Bally roan. When he was yet but
six years old his father died, and his mother left in a poor and strug-
gling condition, removed to Dublin with her family. Young Barrett
early began to show the studious and retiring habits which character-
ized his life. ^He entered college as a pensioner ; obtained a scholarship
in 1773, and a fellowship in 1778. In 1807 he was elected vice-pro-
vost. His uniform life demands no detail of intermediate incidents.
He was reputed by those who had the means of observation to be the
most extensive general scholar of his time. And this indeed seems
but a consequence of his peculiar habits and the peculiar character of
438 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
his intellect. With a prodigious memory, his whole time was devoted
to study : and his entire stock of ideas was derived from books. The
effects of this exclusive range were (as might be supposed) very remark-
able. But to apprehend them rightly, some allowances are required
for the peculiar cast of his intellect. The fellowship course in Trinity
college demands a well developed reasoning faculty ; but this, possibly,
may exist with the least conceivable degree of the comparing, judging,
and observing faculties : and such is the combination to which we would
refer the curious simplicity and ignorance of the living world which ap-
peared to distinguish the doctor from all other men. The strangest stories
have been long in circulation of his uncouth simplicity, but they mostly
so far surpass any of the same kind usually heard of, that their relation
would only raise incredulity. Some of them are, doubtless, fictitious ;
but this we can answer for, that the true stories are far more strange
than the false. The odd peculiarity which gave rise to the most comi-
cal incidents in the doctor's life, was (we rather think) a tendency to
arrive by logical inference at those ordinary facts which others learn
by the use of their senses. We dismiss as fiction the elaborate orni-
thological research by which he is said to have one day ascertained a
swallow which found its way into the library to be a stork ! But we
were present at dinner when he rated one of the attendants for not
inferring correctly, from his calling for mustard, what meat he intended
to eat with it.
Dr. Barrett was accounted penurious in his habits. The poverty of
his early life, together with the isolation of his pursuits and the simplicity
of his mind, must, without the aid of any miserly temper, have contri-
buted to produce the same effects. The doctor had no conception of many
of the uses of money. We cannot think of any temptation to expense
to which he was liable but one, — and that the college library supplied.
His literary labours are fewer than they might have been, had he
been urged by any community of feeling with men and opinions. He
read for the gratification of his own tastes. His most important
achievement was the recovery of an ancient MS. of fragments of the
Gospel of St. Matthew. These he discovered on an old Greek manu-
script in the library. The reader may be aware that, on account of
the high price of materials on which books were written before the
invention of printing, it was very customary to cancel old manuscript
volumes for the substitution of other matter. This appears to have
been the case in the instance of the doctor's discovery. The previous
writing had been erased, the manuscript reversed and cut into a new
volume or scroll, and a new MS. written across the former. Now the
latest of these is judged to have been eight hundred years written : the
first must have been far more ancient; for, considering the enormous
value of books at the time, none but a most old and worn copy is
likely to have been so handled. The copy thus recovered by the doc-
tor's skill, was published by the university. It is the only copy in the
old Greek letter that contains the two first chapters of Matthew.
Odd and peculiar as the doctor's notions were on ordinary matters,
he was said to be a pleasing and instructive companion when books
were the subject of conversation. It is also said that his foreign corre-
spondence was very extensive.
PKKIOD.] JOHN BARRETT. 439
He was the author of a curious theory on the Signs of the Zodiac,
which is marked by great ingenuity, supported by vast learning, but
which, we suspect, must be admitted to show as remarkable a deficiency
of sound judgment and that sense of probability, without which in-
tellectual activity can but go the further astray. Indeed, the doctor's
theoretical tendency seems to have revelled without control : out of
the Signs of the Zodiac he conjured the whole history of the Bible,
translating the first six into the history of the Creation, the second
into the Fall of Man ; and, with the ordinary facility of theoretical
ingenuity, which of all other talents is the most accelerative, viresque
acquirit eundo, he goes on to extract from this apparently narrow scope,
the entire history of the world.
He seems, indeed, to have been gifted with a degree of this species
of dexterity, which, had it been governed by a more just and broader
understanding (no ordinary combination), might have performed won-
ders in the department of literature to which it was applied. Another
proof and example of the same prompt combination on a minute scale,
was his interpretation of an ancient medal, found somewhere in Ireland,
and of which Dr. Quarry of Cork had given an account. It had a
head of Christ on one side, on the other a Hebrew inscription. When
it was shown to the doctor, he commenced his interpretation, which,
after his usual manner, he intermingled with a running commentary
upon Dr. Quarry's qualifications, observing that he could not tell
a " resell from a daleth, or a ram from a dam." His own interpreta-
tion consisted in combining his comments on the translation of the
words, with the symbolical sense which he assigned to the number
of the letters which composed them.* It is not, perhaps, the least
curious feature of these visionary displays of learned ingenuity,
with what unhesitating self-reliance, and with how much entire confi-
dence the Dr. seems to have regarded them himself. This we would
point out, as strongly indicating a broad but yet not distinct tendency
of the Dr/s mind, and of all such who are like him possessed by the
solitary zeal of some secluded research, whether it be for the grand
arcanum, or the half cancelled letters of a coin or MS. : a kindling enthu-
siasm which becomes stronger as it is more confined, and which seems
to absorb those portions of humanity which are turned away from the
noise and bustle of their common stage in the world. To a person in this
state of mind the partition is easily broken between reality and the remote
and dim visions which conjecture may descry among the shadows of the
past. Nothing is too vague to satisfy the eager grasp of a reason refined
and attenuated into fancy, and moving in a region in which common
sense has but little application, because its spnere is the world of com-
mon things. The ordinary observer will readily apply these remarks
to the poetic dreamer ; to Dr. Barrett the application is not so easy,
though full as just. But let it be recollected that he was only to be
met in scenes to which (virtually) he did not belong, and of which he
neither understood the ordinary habits, nor shared in the common feel-
ings; hence his most incredible blunders and sallies of more than infaii-
* We must refer the reader to the Dublin University Magazine for a full and
very curious account of Dr. Barrett's interpretation.
440 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
tine simplicity ; his surprise at the first sight of living mutton, in a flock
of sheep; his neglect of most of the minor decencies of social life, and all
the whimsical peculiarities which made him the storyteller's butt for
invention, and caused his rare appearances in the courts or college park,
(unless at certain stated hours) like those of the owl when he flies at
noon-day, chased by little birds. The Doctor's appearances were (it will
be supposed) not likely to pass without sometimes eliciting demonstra-
tions which would draw summary castigation from any other man. But
he had no more of the worldly sense of dignity than a child; he only saw
the infringement of academic laws. Had he had the ordinary portion
of gall, it might have made him a different man — a stronger taint of
human nature would have early steeped him in the stream of life ; but
his spirit was in old books and the thoughts of obsolete life. After
some rude encounter of thoughtless insolence which would have dis-
turbed the thoughts of wiser men for the next twenty-four hours, the
Doctor would move on his way in perfect calm of mind; if the shade
of Salmasius or Scaliger could rise and taunt him in his garret, he might,
we doubt not, quail or fling back the erudite vituperation with a dignified
latinity that would have done honour to Alma Mater ; but the pranks
of exuberant freshmen had no power to move him from his lettered mood.
And we should observe, that, if in some respects he appeared sordid in
the world's eye, it was because its great and little things were not very
clearly distinguished in his apprehension ; he did not use its standard,
or speak its language or its thoughts. It is a curious consequence,
indeed, of these circumstances, that although the Doctor was master of
a very good English style, acquired from books, still from want of in-
tercourse, his ordinary dialect was that which he had acquired when
a schoolboy ; hence the strange medley of oaths and provincialisms,
so unprecedented in the university : of this, the instances are so
numerous, that no story of the Doctor is unmixed with these uncouth
characteristics. We forbear from examples, for no theoretical exposi-
tion can divest the best of these recollections of a gross and ludicrous
character: of these, some most amusing collections of which have
been at various times given to the public, we can only say, that whether
actually true or false, they are not exaggerations. We had in early
life the privilege and the embarrassment of sitting tete a tete at com-
mons with the Doctor, during an entire summer vacation ; during the
whole of which time our silent dinner was unvisited, except on Satur-
days, by a few of the senior Fellows who came into town to hold the
Board. We unhappily did not possess, in a sufficient degree, those
grave and weighty attainments which might have enabled us to profit
by this chance, and no less unfortunately we were not then quite as
free as might be desirable from the reprehensible habit sometimes
indulged by inexperienced youth, of laughing at wiser people than
themselves; for such a temper, the numberless traditions concerning the
Doctor, were a bad preparation, and we are obliged in duty to confess,
that we did not give him quite fair play. We had not (of course) the
assurance to attempt to trot out the infirmities of one whose rank and
age, not to speak of his learning, placed him so much above us ; but
he could not fail to detect the over vivacious smile which quivered
like an armed neutrality about our buccinatory muscles ; or the occa-
PEKIOD.] JOHN BARRETT. 441
sional explosion which was insufficiently concealed in the ample hollov
of a huge silver goblet. The effect of this most inevitable rude-
ness was gradually to reduce the Doctor to silence, and we had after-
wards the mortification to learn, that our very involuntary inde-
corums had not escaped his notice as clearly as we had hoped, and
that he had pronounced us to have " a damned ugly laugh ;" by
" laugh," meaning of cpurse, a smile. Notwithstanding the constraint
thus occasioned by so unpleasant a vis a vis, the odd displays of the
Dr.'s extravagant simplicity were fully equal to the most absurd story
that we have heard of him. On those days when our dull meal was
relieved by the presence of three or four of the senior Fellows, there
was a curious contrast sometimes brought out in his remarks. If the
conversation by any chance turned on books, or the matter of book
knowledge, he displayed his learning in well turned and accurate lan-
guage, and save that he went somewhat beyond the tone of mere con-
versation, might be set down as a sensible and judicious scholar ; but
if, as more commonly occurred, the conversation turned on moral or
political topics, or on the commerce of the world, the part he took, and
the notions he expressed, were often such as can only be truly compared
to the talk of a child of ten. Such, indeed, that the utmost address
was required to avoid the disagreeable alternations of reading a lecture
on some childish mistake, to one of the most learned men of his day,
or turning away the subject by a lightness of treatment, from which
the charity and polished courtesy of these excellent men, would, except
in a few playful instances, restrain them. At times a little delicate finess-
ing of this description would occur so as to draw out the singular peculi-
arities of the Dr.'s mind with rich effect. But, protected as he was by
the good sense and good feeling, as well as the gentlemanly habits of
his company, it should be added, that the respect due to his age, sta-
tion, and great attainments was never for an instant lost sight of.
Happily for learning and the academic character such eccentric com-
pounds are rare, because they are not the effects simply of any error of
discipline, but deviations of nature from her common standards. Like
the dwarf with proportions so dissimilar as to seem like a cut down
giant, the natural frame of the doctor's mind was ill assorted and hete-
rogeneous. A sufficient development of the mere discursive faculty, great
activity of fancy and of the power of combination seem to have con-
stituted his strength ; a defect of judgment, a still more considerable
deficiency in the moral and sensual tendencies, which are the main links
between the inner man and the external world, impaired and narrowed
his perceptions, and left him devoid of the ordinary tact and habit of
observation, from which more of the cultivation of the mind proceeds,
than seems to have been fully noticed, or at least explained. The under-
standing early begins to draw the best part of its range of ideas from the
numberless lights of sense, by which all its tendencies are at every single
instant attracted arid exercised. Take away or deaden these tendencies
and it is the same as if the lights themselves were quenched, the heart
is still, and the brain darkened. The Doctor's mind was, except on
those points on which it was wholly turned, but a piece of logical
mechanism, and imposed on itself with the false premises of imperfect
observation. His notions of the intercourse and of the realities of life were
442 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
syllogisms ; lie saw every thing real with the microscope of an anti-
quarian, and inferred upon the little he saw by a sophism, or a partial
induction. But we are entering upon a needless analysis, which for
any useful purpose should be followed on a broader scale than is
allowed us.
He died in 1821, and left his property, accumulated by the habits of
a secluded life, to several charities, and to his brother's family a portion
which was considered insufficient. Fortunately, the provisions of his
will admitted of a construction in their favour, and this deficiency was
justly and humanely remedied.
BORN 1763— DIED 1829.
THIS able divine, and worthy man, was born in 1763 ; he was the
youngest son of a beneficed clergyman of the Church of England, and
received his education under the eye of an elder brother, Thomas
Graves, afterwards Dean of Connor. The high moral qualities of his
character, which soon began to appear, and the early display of intellec-
tual capacity, were such as to leave no room for serious doubt as to the
course he was likely to pursue, or of the success he could not fail to
obtain. The steady and uniform rectitude by which his entire life is
evenly characterized, leaves us under no necessity of careful and observ-
ant details for the purpose of demonstrating a character, or account-
ing for successes uniformly secured by the prudent application of first-
rate abilities.
He entered college in 1780 with a declared intention to read for
the fellowship: his collegiate career was suitably passed ; he won all the
honours of every kind, with more than usual eclat : and obtained his
scholarship with distinction, in 1782, together with Lord Plunket and
Miller.
In 1786 he obtained his fellowship; having, in the brief period thus
given to that arduous course, acquired with very distinguished reputa-
tion the three medals given by the Historical Society.
Our glance over so distinguished a career, is thus summary from no
disposition to underrate one of the most truly eminent men of his day :
but because, having but a few sheets of this volume now before us, we
would avoid an unnecessary repetition of the academic history of a time
on which we have already gone at a length not strictly economical.
We have, in a word, been compelled to alter our entire scale, and
unless, when, as in the last previous memoir, something singular
demands exposition or detail, -we must proceed to deal summarily with
every case alike. Fortunately, men like Graves cannot be forgotten ;
an able and worthy commemoration of his exemplary and useful life, has
been placed before the world, by his son ; and his writings, a monu-
ment cere perennius, more durable than the memorials of human praise,
hold no secondary place among the labours of the most illustrious
divines.
PERIOD.] RICHARD GRAVES. 443
Soon after obtaining his fellowship, Mr. Graves married a daughter
of the Rev. Dr. Drought, who was Regius Professor of Divinity.
In 1799 he obtained the professorship of oratory.
In 1813 his father-in-law was superannuated, and in the next year,
Mr. Graves was appointed his deputy. He afterwards in 1819, on the
death of Dr. Drought, became his successor. Long before this latter
appointment, he had attained to a very high reputation for piety and
eloquence in the pulpit. His style as a preacher was in some impor-
tant respects different from that heard in universities, in which either
the exposition of doctrine, the discussion of controversial points, or
'generally' the elementary information of students, was considered
the main object of the preacher : introducing a general adherence to
the methods either of narrative statement and commentary, or of
argumentative discussion : methods which were suggested, and in a
measure enforced by the sense which the preachers could not fail to
entertain of the learned and critical character of their hearers. But
either the moral temper of Mr. Graves was differently constituted, or
his sense of the strong obligation of adopting a more strictly practical
object, was impressed by the deep and exalted piety of his nature.
He thought his duty not alone to instruct the judgment, and lead his
youthful auditory aright through the vast and uncertain page of con-
troversy; but considering well how wise in speculation, and how rich
in stores of accumulated knowledge the divine may be, without a single
gleam of that knowledge which "cometh from above," and which is the
" one thing needful," he adopted the more popular style which appeals
to the hearts of the young. Without falling into the extreme error
which the taste of the time seemed to exact, and to which, perhaps,
his powers might have led, of a rhetorical and ornate style ; and keep-
ing always within the borders of the more approved standards of Eng-
land ; he was forcible and pointed, and what would now be called
sententious ; but his sentences had that species of moral and proverbial
weight that has uniformly a strong effect on the young ; on those who
find in Young, Cowper, and Johnson the first models of taste, and the
first incentives to moral sentiment. His fine sympathy with the modes
of human feeling (the first quality for the orator) taught Mr. Graves to
know that those whom he addressed are soonest affected by that method
of address which most promptly and forcibly conveys the elementary
truths by which the heart is first impressed; truths, of which the power
is felt, and the truth perceived on the simplest enunciation, so that point
rather than reasoning is the instrument required.
In 1797, and the following year, he was appointed Donnellan Lec-
turer. It was a period unhappily distinguished for a wide and spread-
ing diffusion of those infidel opinions and tendencies which then
accompanied and heightened the effect of the revolutionary mania of
the day. The dreadful influences of these unsettling notions upon the
mind of that generation, are matter of history: and even the university
could not entirely escape the universal taint. The able men who were
then providentially in charge of its interests, were not inactive or in-
efficient ; the late Dr. Whitley Stokes published a pamphlet which
first met, and in a measure, arrested the growing evil. Mr. Graves
was happily called to the discharge of an office which enabled him to
444 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
complete the repulse and overthrow of the error and fallacy which had
begun to assail truth and sound knowledge in their citadel. The result
was the production of his lectures on the Pentateuch. In this most
admirable work, he performs the same task, for the Mosaic history,
which Paley, Leslie, and other able reasoners had executed for the
Gospel history. His undertaking was, however, incalculably more
arduous, in proportion to the remoter distance of time, the greater
obscurity of the collateral evidence, and the speculative rubbish with
which theoretical divines had in no small measure entangled the sub-
ject. The lectures on the Pentateuch are now so largely known that
we shall not need to enter further on their merits. When first
published, this able work, like all works of sterling erudition or
close reason, when unconnected with any great popular opinions, had
slowly made its way ; the first edition was exhausted. He was, how-
ever, disappointed by finding the publishers reluctant to enter on the
hazards of a new edition. This was increased by the commercial
circumstances of the day. But the reputation of the work was steadily
on the increase, and in two years after, Messrs. Cadell and Davis saw
good reason to induce them to the undertaking.
In 1813 he was offered the Deanery of Ardagh, by Mr. Peel. His
fellowship being more valuable, and involving better church prospects,
he declined this offer. It was, however, pressed upon him, arid an
arrangement being proposed which enabled him to exchange the fellow-
ship for the Regius Professorship of Divinity, he willingly acceded. It
was his hope to render this office more available than it had been till
then, for the instruction of the students. He was not disappointed in
this desire, as many important improvements well testify. Among the
principal of these, may be mentioned the institution of a yearly ex-
amination, in a well selected course, comprising the main branches of
theological literature. We have already entered to some extent on the
great forward movement of our National church with respect to quali-
fications ; it will now be enough to add, that much of this must be
traced to the efforts of Dean Graves while he occupied the Divinity
chair.
In the years 1816 and 1817 he was tried by some heavy afflictions,
on the details of which we cannot enter. Of these, the first is but
obscurely alluded to in his memoir; we believe it to have arisen from
the death of his son-in-law within a short time after his marriage. The
loss of his son Hercules was a heavier blow. With this most worthy
and distinguished young man, we had but the advantage of a casual in-
troduction, but his brilliant reputation cannot be forgotten by a college
cotemporary ; and having some common friends, we were fully aware
of the elevated place he held in the regard and affections of those who
knew him best. The account of Hercules Graves, and of the circum-
stances of his death, is given with much deeply affecting detail in the
memoir of his father. It reminds the reader forcibly of the history of
Wolfe in a similar situation. They were friends and fellow-students.
In March 1823 the Dean was elected to the parish of St. Mary by
the Chapter of Christ Church, a preferment which dissolved his long
and affectionate connexion with St. Michael's. He entered on this new
sphere of activity with an ardour and zeal undamped by years, and
PKRIOD.] RICHARD GRAVES. 445
with all the exertion and efficient ministerial diligence for which he
had been uniformly known by those who had occasion to meet him in
this walk of duty.
In 1825 he published his last work on the doctrine of Calvinistic
Predestination. This work is in the hands of the public ; — the subject
is one, upon which, unless for some purpose of adequate utility, we
desire not to enter, and we cannot venture on any comment which
would not have the effect of embarking us in a lengthened discussion.
We have already, more than once, noticed the manner in which the
discussion has ever been conducted, and we shall only add, that our
views receive much confirmation from all that we read upon it in the
memoir of Dr. Graves.
In 1827 he received the severest visitation to which a man of his
strong and deep affections is liable in this earthly state, by the death
of " the judicious and faithful partner " who had contributed to his
happiness through many years. The Dean bore this affliction, as a
true Christian must bear all trials. And we find him addressed by the
same good brother, whose word of consolation and sympathy was never
wanting in the season of calamity, still in his 83d year, addressing him
in a letter which cannot be read without emotion. He bore his afflic-
tion with the patience and resignation belonging to his Christian pro-
fession and character : but, nevertheless, it soon became apparent that
this and other trying visitations which seem to have come in quick
succession at this period of his life, while they exercised and illustrated
his faith, had their effect in breaking up his constitution. His friends
perceived the change, before he became himself aware of it ; and it was
pressed upon him to change the scene for a time. In compliance with
the suggestion, he set out upon an excursion to the north of England.
He had reached Lancaster, when he was attacked by paralysis ; and
it is mentioned that he lay for three hours under this seizure in full
consciousness of his state, before he would awaken his sou who slept in
the same room. From this first attack he recovered sufficiently to
return to Ireland ; after which his entire conduct seems to have been a
succession of steps preparatory to the final change ; — a course which it
would be vain to attempt to describe by the common places of a sum-
mary. The path of all true Christians is the same, the varieties are
but diversities of incident only communicable in detail : it would not
be easy to find a portraiture of the end of a Christian life more beauti-
fully complete and true than that contained in the memoir published
by his son Dr. Richard Graves.
In 1828 Dean Graves spent the summer near Dublin, as it was con-
sidered unsafe to remove too far from medical aid. During this period
he suffered much from the condition of his health, and more from the
severe remedies, which he endured without a murmur. Through all
he continued to maintain his mental composure, and the childlike fresh-
ness of his tastes for nature. His decline, nevertheless, went on with
a progress apparent to his family ; and, in March 1829, he was released
from earthly tribulations by a sudden and severe attack of his complaint.
44G ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
. Cesar
BORN 1768— DIED 1843.
OF the Rev. Cesar Otway, we have no means to trace the early life. In
his, as in many other instances, we have often to regret the want of any
distinct record of the youthful course of talent and worth, until they break
upon the world's eye at some high eminence, won by the toil of years, —
far advanced in, and often at or near the close of, a career of merit, —
recognised when the recognition is to its objects of little worth; — when
they have survived the friends who would have shared their triumphs,
and the cotemporary crowd, to which they had been used to look for their
fame, has become old and cold and sadly thinned, and a new race is
rising round them with new thoughts. But more deeply will these re-
flections find their application, in the case of a man who, like the subject
of this brief notice, for the better years of his life toiled as an humble
labourer in the vineyard of Christ. Though known to many as an elo-
quent and effective preacher, and, in a lesser circle, as an able, extensive,
and interesting writer in Christian journals ; still, as the preacher's re-
putation is circumscribed within a narrow scope, and the periodical writer
is anonymous, Otway was by no means known in a degree proportioned
to his real claims upon the admiration and gratitude of the world.
Like the man whom the poet describes as building to God, and not to
fame, he cared not to " inscribe the marble."
Such is the explanation of our motives for offering a very brief
sketch of one, who, if men were to be estimated fairly by what they
were and what they have done, instead of by their personal advance-
ment, has as fair a claim as any other illustrious person to a lengthened
record of his life.
Mr. Otway was descended from an English family of rank and pro-
perty. The branch to which he immediately belonged had, in a former
generation, settled in the county of Tipperary.
Having passed through Trinity college, he, after a time, took holy
orders, after which he was 1 7 years curate of a country parish ; but
we have not any means of distinctly ascertaining the particulars. When
he first began to be generally known as one of the principal preachers
in Dublin, he filled the post of assistant chaplain in the Magdalen
asylum chapel in Leeson-street. And, not long after, it became known
to the more intelligent of those who took interest in church literature,
that he took a principal part in the writing and management of the
Christian Examiner, in conjunction with his friend Dr. Singer. In this
important work he sunk the powers of his able and well-stored mind
for many years, working for the public, for religion and the church, but
(humanly speaking), not for himself. So far from this indeed, that, we
are persuaded, the neglect with which he was treated, was a result of
the efficient place he held among those who were then toiling by every
means to raise the church to that pre-eminence of piety and learning
which she has since gained. Governed by formalists — by rules of state
subserviency — rigid in the maintenance of her corporate laws and cus-
toms, and more zealous of canonical order than of spiritual life, — the
PERIOD.] CESAR OTWAY. -447
authorities then existing, looked with fear and suspicion upon those
leading minds to which, under God, so vast a change is due. We do
not take upon us to quarrel with the caution which we know to be
necessary for the repression of human zeal, — always overleaping the
bounds of truth and order; — but this may, in its turn, be carried too
far: and it is surely so, when it would maintain the church at the cost
of its proper objects. However this may be, it was obvious at that
time, that the leaders in the spiritual advancement of the Irish church
were not the same who held the reins of discipline. And it was no less
apparent, that few indeed of those whose successful preaching, writings
and ministry, were the known instruments of a great diffusion of piety,
were chosen for promotion : it was notorious, and almost proverbial,
that the path of duty was not that of preferment. And never did this
find a stronger case than in the history of Otway.
Without the slightest tendency to any shade of eccentricity in doc-
trine, from which his broad and manly good common sense revolted —
and only zealous to win souls to salvation by awakening their affections
to the truth — his preaching was as plain and sober in sense and doc-
trine as it was effective in style and manner. Even in this, he gave
the plainest proofs that he was not seduced by the praise of eloquence.
Considering justly that his first object was to obtain a hold of the
attention for Christian truth, he rejected the flowing garniture of
language and fancy, of which no man possessed more, for a shrewd
and simple style, often colloquial, always placing the most impor-
tant points in the most striking aspect. He knew how often the
excitement caused by flowing eloquence ends in mere admiration
of the preacher ; and how often excited imagination and gratified
taste take the place of faith in the breast : he knew the impor-
tance of the tone and manner which convey the impression that the
preacher is in earnest, and speaking in his own character, — and such
in a pre-eminent sense was his pulpit style. He was earnest and
simple, by countenance, action, and utterance, expressing and com-
municating the deep and urgent fervency of his own nature; often, too,
interrupting the strain of pious exhortation and remonstrance, by some
home stroke of colloquial humour, which brought the hearer, as by a
short turn, on a new aspect of some truth which had lost its power in
its familiarity. It is also to be observed that Otway's character, as a
writer holding a very high place in Christian literature, gave the
weight of authority to his teaching, and they who knew him either in
private life or in his ministerial capacity, found added influence, arising
from the thorough sincerity and whole heartedness preserved in all his
conversation.
Mr. Otway is likely to be most known to posterity as a tourist. On
this subject we shall take an extract from the pages of the Dublin
University Magazine, for the fidelity of which we can answer. " The
peculiar characters of C. O. are, the power he possesses of making his
readers partake in the deep feeling he has for the natural beauties of his
native land, and the humour and tact with which he describes the
oddities and amiabilities of the Irish character. And while depicting
with no mean effect the absurdities of poor Paddy, there is no sourness
in his satire. He even treads tenderly upon the heels of Popish
448 x ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
priests, and would, if possible, by his playful hits, rather improve the
profession, than hurt the individual.
" Beginning late in life to write for publication, we have heard, that
till his fortieth year he was not aware that he could handle a pen ;
occupied, too, for seventeen years as the curate of a country parish,
he had not the time, even if he had the desire, to be an author ; he
therefore exhibits both the faults and excellencies of one who has late
in life come for the first time before the public. . . . He seems
full of multifarious observations, — he is fraught with practical knowledge,
and having observed almost as much as he has seen and read, he can
adorn with legend, anecdote, and story, almost any place or thing
he attempts to describe, and we verily believe, he would give a plea-
sant description of a tour round a broom-stick." * «
Mr. Otway's Sketches of scene, person, and event, have the merit
ascribed in the foregoing extract, of presenting all he touches with
his lively and graphic pen, with living fidelity to the mind's eye. He
was a great master of that faculty of the poet, which transports the
reader to the place, by the medium of the moral colouring which is
proper to it ; that is, the feeling and sentiment it would be most likely
to awaken. His narrative acquires also somewhat of dramatic interest,
from the personality imparted to it by the never-failing undertone of
his own peculiar character. The reader not only participates in the
action and sentiment, but he feels the presence of a fellow-traveller,
a pleasant companion, laughing, moralizing, tale-telling, lecturing, and
never for a moment allowing the intrusion of the dull passages which
few travellers have the luck to avoid.
Among the numerous literary projects which were entertained by
the active and busy mind of Mr. Otway, there was, we have reason
to believe, one for which his powers and attainments were eminently
adapted, — a history of Ireland ; still a desideratum perhaps, as Leland
(the only writer of any just pretension,) has not even approached the
most important portion of his task. No man was more fitted for this
perplexed and delicate undertaking, than one whose sagacity, justice,
and honesty, were unclouded by prejudices and party feeling, and
unchecked by fear or influence. To just principles and clear views, as
regards the present age, Mr. Otway added all that is really historical
in the learning of the past. Perhaps, indeed, there were insurmount-
able obstacles to such an undertaking ; he had, perhaps, outlived the
strength and energy which the labour must require, and it is to be
indeed added, that the period is yet far off, when the influence, which
renders such an undertaking neither very easy nor likely to be very
popular, shall have left a clear field for the impartial historian. He also
had projected an edition of Ware.
Among the literary projects to which Mr. Otway was an effective
contributor, may be mentioned the Dublin Penny Journal, first planned
between himself and Mr. Petrie. A combination of talents which must
be allowed to have conveyed a high promise to the public, for between
these two able and highly endowed individuals, may fairly be said to
have lain the best part of the materials for Irish history. As it was,
* Dublin University Magazine, Oct. 1839.
PERIOD.] BARTHOLEMEW LLOYD. 449
during the brief period of their occupation in this paper, it was the
vehicle of information far beyond the humble name and form under
which it appeared. But it did not prosper; all such undertakings
must for their success be dependent upon certain trade economics.
A large and increasing sale of the Penny Journal was insufficient to
compensate the cheapness of its price. And the parties concerned,
could not well afford to be losers for a period or amount sufficient to
establish it. The one volume which was thus put forth, will always be
a valuable collection in the hands of the historian.
As we commenced by explaining, we have not been enabled to follow
out Mr. Otway's personal history into its details. Some years before
his death, we had the honour and the happiness to become acquainted
with him, and to number him among our most valued friends. We
have sat among his guests, delighted at the rare combination of uni-
form good feeling and right sense with humour and a happy pleasantry
that never obtruded itself or became either forced or ill-natured. He
combined great candour with refined tact, and was one of the very few
we have met, who could be very frank without ever wounding a feeling
that deserved to be respected.
In the last two or three years of his life, Mr. Otway suffered much
from attacks of a rheumatic nature, so very severe as to compel him to
visit some of the German Spas, from which he derived benefit, and ap-
peared for a short time renewed in health. But early in the spring of
1842, his constitution gave way under the severity of a similar disease,
and he died, leaving many attached friends and an affectionate family
to lament his loss. The adepts in Irish literature are fully aware and
will long feel the extent of that loss to his country.
, «C.C.3B.
BORN 1772 DIED 1836.
THE life of Dr. Lloyd was that of a man exclusively engaged in aca-
demic pursuits and in the cultivation of science. In the commemoration
of such men it has been frequently our lot to lament the very remark-
able disproportion between the incidents and the real importance of
their lives ; and when we look upon the scanty record we are compelled
to offer of so much worth and so much valuable labour, we cannot
resist a painful impression of the injustice we must seem to commit.
This is, indeed, but seeming : when we have to illustrate the achieve-
ments of public men, they are presented amidst the glitter of events
and the reflection of the passing scene, magnified to the public eye by
being identified with all it is accustomed to survey with interest. The
scholar, the divine, or the philosopher, moves in a higher and yet less
pretending path.; his fame is too high-reaching for the vulgar gaze,
till it comes down amplified by the reflexions of time.
Bartholomew Lloyd was at an early age deprived of his father, and
of the uncle to whose care he had been committed on his father's death.*
* Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, Dec. 1837.
VOL. vi. 2 F
450 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
He entered college at the early age of fifteen, obtained his scholarship
on distinguished answering in 1790, and his fellowship with still more
distinction in 1796.
On Dr. Magee's resignation he was appointed professor of mathematics.
At this period, notwithstanding the exertions and example of his illus-
trious predecessor, science stood at a low stage of progress in the univer-
sity. This was not, as it has been ignorantly said, to be imputed to any
want of zeal or knowledge peculiar to the university. We have already
had to state that, owing to causes, into which we cannot now enter, the
mathematical sciences had long been stationary in the British isles ; and
this to a degree so considerable, that for some years about this period
the mathematical student was mainly dependent for his progress on the
French and other foreign writers; so that, indeed, the several branches
of analytical science were generally called " French mathematics," — a
term not yet altogether inapplicable, on account of the numerous and im-
portant works in that language to which the student must have recourse.
The efforts of Dr. Lloyd to remedy this state of things are authentically
recorded in a very clear and able volume on algebraic geometry, the
earliest we believe in our language, which he drew up for the mathema-
tical classes, on the model of the best French writers. To this work, with
the lectures and the exertion of influence with which it was accompanied,
is due the first effective impulse which brought the University of Dublin
to the high eminence it soon reached. The book itself had not quite
the same success with the public : owing to the numerous pressing avo-
cations of its author, and his haste to put it into the hands of his class,
it was so badly printed that its use was much impeded. It was still
not the less valuable as a text-book for the lecturer, and still holds its
place as a useful introduction to that most interesting and elegant branch
of geometry. In noticing the result of Dr. Lloyd's exertions, Dr. Singer
justly and forcibly remarks, " We are now, as it were, centuries in
advance of what we, a few years ago, viewed as the limit of attain-
ment." We may add, that each step of his academic life is similarly
marked by some able and striking exertion of ability. After he was
elected to the chair of natural philosophy, we had the pleasure of attend-
ing a course of his lectures on the subject of optics, and can bear wit-
ness to the beauty of style and method, and the simplicity and clear-
ness of demonstration of a series of lectures, of which we earnestly
expected the publication. At that period such lectures would have satis-
fied an important desideratum. But optical science was then mani-
festly on the eve of changes as to its physical theory, — and it is likely
that a mind like Dr. Lloyd's felt dissatisfied with the scope of lectures
which the student would have gladly received.
In 1831 Dr. Lloyd was elevated to the station of Provost, and here
again we must quote the authoritative language of one who knew the
Provost and the university well. Having stated the fact, Dr. Singer
proceeds : " and perhaps no six years in the history of any institution
can be compared to those which passed under his brief administration,
with regard to substantial improvement, changes rapid, though well
weighed, and reform mild and prudent, yet searching and effective.
Scarcely a portion of the system of education but was submitted to
PERIOD.] BARTHOLEMEW LLOYD. 451
consideration, and in many instances to changes fully justified by ex-
perience." To this high testimony nothing need be added.
On the death of Bishop Brinkley, Dr. Lloyd was, with a true appre-
ciation of his claims, elected president of the royal Irish Academy. There
never could have been a worthier or more strictly appropriate election ;
or, in truth, it may be said, one on which the Academy was more united
by a single feeling. The exertions of Dr. Lloyd in the great cause of
natural knowledge were not confined to the promotion of academic
studies : wherever there was an efficient institution or combination for
the prosecution of practical investigations, he took the lead, and his co-
operation was zealous and efficient. He was one of the original founders
of the geological society, over which he presided for a time, and delivered
an opening address worthy of his reputation. From Dr. Singer's memoir
we learn " that under his auspices was the magnetic observatory com-
menced in the university, which promises to supply so perfectly a de-
sideratum in British science, and which must so powerfully tend not
only to the elucidating of the most recondite and interesting problems
in natural knowledge, but to the practical improvement of many of the
most important instruments of general utility." *
As provost, his attention was not confined to the interests of science,
properly so called ; but moral philosophy also obtained a share of his
regard. Dr. Singer mentions that in " early life " he had cultivated
" mental science ;" he now founded a moral professorship — a professor-
ship on which it will be allowed by every reflecting mind, the univer-
sity and the world have large claims for the dissipation of many per-
nicious fallacies, and the construction of a science of which, notwith-
standing the labours of a few first-rate minds, the very existence is
yet but imaginary.
Dr. Lloyd was also a preacher of no inferior power. On this topic
Dr. Singer says, " All who have heard him as a preacher in the uni-
versity must remember the clear and lucid style, the mild and earnest,
and persuasive manner which, in spite of physical defects of utterance,
we believe, rendered him most attractive in the pulpit ; and they can-
not forget the accuracy of conception, and keen and discriminating
judgment which could penetrate into the depths of the metaphysics of
theology without obscuring the subject, or diminishing its sanctity ;"
a praise deserved by few indeed, who have ever ventured to search for,
or elucidate divine truth, among the barren wilds and endless mazes of
metaphysics.
It is mentioned by Dr. Singer in his memoir, that " he has left a
large store of manuscripts behind, the natural result of a well-stored,
active, and inventive mind, and it is not to be doubted but that our
fellow-academic and vice-president,t the heir of his name and talents,
will not suffer a grain of his father's gold to be lost."
In private life, and in his intercourse with all whom the business of
life or the duties of office brought into communication with him, Dr.
Lloyd was kindly accessible ; the native benevolence of his disposition
gave an attractive expression to his voice and manner, and prompted a
ready and charitable temper to confer obligations. Dr. Singer, who
* Proceedings, ut supra. f Since President.
452 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SIXTH
was his intimate friend, speaks of him in high terms as a Christian aid
gentleman, and we can only add that the impression was universal.
- We are not aware to what extent the death of this amiable man and
able scholar was to be foreseen by means of any previous indications.
To the public it came as a sudden event in the winter of 1836-7, and
imparted a painful shock to the lovers of wisdom and virtue, and deep
regret to those who felt interest in the advance of science.
CljarUs Robert JHattmit.
DIED 1825.
MATURIN was the descendant from a French family of high respec-
tability. His immediate ancestors for some generations had been
settled in Ireland : and the name occurs among the lists of fellows and
scholars in the Dublin university calendar.* Charles Eobert probably
entered college in 1795, as he obtained a scholarship in 1798.
On leaving college, or soon after, he was ordained on an appointment
to the curacy of Loughrea, which he soon changed for Peter's parish in
Dublin, in which he continued through life.
He married Miss Kingsbury, the sister of the late archdeacon Kings-
bury, and lived in York-street. Upon the details of his life we cannot
enter : but as he is here to be commemorated as an eminent dramatist
and novelist, and as indeed among the most distinguished literary
characters which Ireland has produced, we cannot omit some brief no-
tice of his writings. And as there appears some apparent inconsistency
between his profession and literary pursuits, — we must first offer a few
remarks on this point. He was one of the curates of the most extensive
and laborious parishes in Dublin, of which he discharged the duties with
conscientious zeal : but with the exuberant vivacity of a mind which was
endowed with far too much movement for any of the ordinary levels of
social life, he sometimes justly incurred the reprehension of more staid
and common spirits, — and to some extent also fell under the misrepre-
sentations of that large class which judges of all by reference to a few
habitual standards, and can make no allowances when unusual cases
arise. It may be added, that his great and unusual qualifications for
social intercourse, his prompt and ready wit, his abundant information,
his singularly dramatic mode of conception and expression, supplied
temptations which no being, merely human, has perhaps ever resisted.
A few brilliant years had passed over his head, during which there was
a perpetual struggle between two opposite forms of character going on
within his breast, and he was (what few could be) deeply and effectively
engaged in two opposite services : and while the giddy and shallow
circles of fashionable society claimed him with an eagerness which
would have turned ordinary brains, Maturin was drawn into courses of
gay frivolity which he would gladly have broken from if he could.
Another state of character was, in the mean time, slowly maturing : he
* Henry Maturin obtained a fellowship in 1792, and went out on the living of
Clonmavaditch. Gabriel Maturin obtained a scholarship in 1787.
CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN. 453
never lost the feeling that he was. born and endowed for better things.
His wide and profound theological reading, his first-rate controversial
powers, his mastery in the pulpit, and his instinctive and practised
knowledge of man and human life, were just obtaining the ascendency,
and on the eve of appearing in their true light, when a lingering and
painful disease removed him.
His early productions were such as to indicate plainly the cast of
character thus described. In the " House of Moutorio," there is a vast
exuberance of all the impulses of humanity, — the young passions, fan-
tasies and aspirations, dancing and eddying like the waters of a gushing
fountain, and sparkling in the coloured light of romance. Plot, senti-
ment, character, and description, in an abundance that seems to mock
the anxious effort of ordinary genius, and to perplex the youthful author
with his own riches, mark the entire of this extraordinary production, —
the extraordinary power of which is known to have called forth the
admiration of Sir Walter Scott.
We pass the more regular and successful productions, which followed
for some years, to the period of his successful debut as a dramatic au-
thor. We shall offer a few remarks on the state of the drama, when
Bertram appeared. The drama had fallen into decay, and there was a
state of existing circumstances unfavourable to its restoration. The
false taste of the public, the sordid illiberality of managers, the vanity
and usurpation of the green-room, bore on the luckless author with a
force which is only to be conceived by those who have experienced it.
unless, like ourselves, they have had the luck to see M'Lise's admirable
painting of a scene from Gil Bias, in which all the amusing varieties of
histrionic conceit and impertinence are drawn with more than poetic
truth, flirting their vanity and gaudy airs in the face of a poor-devil
author. The humane spirit of modern manners, and the improved pre-
tensions of literature itself, forbid such displays in our times, — the re-
presentation is but symbolical as applied to the present century, —
it is no more true to the letter, but it is not less so in spirit. The
dramatic poet is subordinate to the actor. After he has shaped his plot,
conceived and struck out his characters, and lavished his utmost skill in
moulding their language to the truth of life and nature, he must place
his workmanship at the mercy of the Roscius of the hour. The depth
or shallowness of this gentleman's lungs must be allowed for, — the colour
his complexion loves, — the character or the portrait his pride has drawn
for him ; — the hero is to be great or small according to the stature of
the stage Procrustes. We do not, in this language, mean to convey
any censure on the class of actors, — we only speak of a tendency and
its results. In most cases, we are quite sure the actor is the better
judge, — perhaps the better poet ; — he is, in fact, the chief agent in
giving effect to dramatic representation : but this is itself in a measure
the consequence of decline. And in whatever light it is to be viewed,
as matter of praise or censure, there is no less truth in the application.
The author has to keep stage effect uppermost upon his imagination,
just in the passages where it should be forgotten; — if Boots or the
laundress is to appear, the author will perhaps be allowed to use his dis-
cretion ; the dramatic personage will probably be no actor : but Hamlet
or Richard would (had they not protection from the sanction of time)
454 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
be sadly tonsored and tailored in the green-room. Now the uncaleulated
effect of this is, that no mind of the higher order of power can or will
accommodate itself to the requisition of the stage. No one but an actor
can, under the conditions, write a tragedy for the stage with any fair
chance of legitimate success. To construct the magnificent hocus pocus
of a melo-drama, and to preserve the nice rules of stage effect, was, at
the time to which these remarks are intended to apply, the whole art
of the drama.
It was at this period that a very considerable impulse in the right
direction was communicated to the dramatic art by Mr. Maturin's tra-
gedy of Bertram. We shall not here venture on the attempt to assign
the place of this striking and powerful piece in the critical scale of the
British drama. It indicated no degeneracy of power, either for the poetry
or the stage effect : and perhaps the skill and tact of the author is shown
in the very departures from the more classical standard, as thus alone
could the melo-dramatic taste of the period of its production be con-
ciliated. By the instrumentality of Lord Byron, then among the com-
mittee of management in Drury Lane, it had the success it well deserved,
and ran for upwards of thirty nights representation. The effect on Mr.
Maturin's fortunes was not satisfactory : the remuneration was not pro-
portional to the success. The deduction for expenses from the author's
nights are considerable ; and we have some recollection of the mis-
carriage of a remittance by which some amount of the author's profit
was in some way lost. However it is to be accounted for, he was not
very materially enriched by the transaction. If this were all, it would
be comparatively of small moment ; but it will be at once felt, and
indeed is of frequent occurrence, that such a success must have seemed as
the opening of a golden vein of fortune. The prospect of a ready income
from literature had, at the time, much to give it probability, — it was the
day of the Waverley novels, of Byron's poetry, — the public hand seemed
outstretched to reward the poet : the first gay whirl of excitement was
no season for keen and severe scrutiny of chances, it brought that
flattery against which no mortal mind is proof, — it brought the caresses
and allurements of the world, — it brought tastes, wants, desires, and
expenses ; and, in the flush of the moment, it was but natural to count
on a continued succession of similar achievements. But there were
thoughts which did not obtrude, and were not sought for. The tragedy
of Bertram was no birth of a day : it was a slow, careful, and deliberate
work, on which the best power and skill of its author had been
lavished ; — a tale often to be told of first works. While it was in
hands, much of his force and energy had ebbed : and the glare and
wearing excitements of society accelerated this natural progress of
human decline. When it came to the point of trial, Mr. Maturin soon
discovered that the spontaneous fertility of his youth had in a great
measure declined. With these almost unobserved and unconscious
changes, the expectations by which he was deceived, led to embarrass-
ment of circumstances, — many anxious cares helped to distract his spirit
and scatter his powers of concentration. In place of the vivid concep-
tion, he had indeed acquired a stock of new images from life, and a
certain command of the positions, groupings, characters, and excitement,
which prevail in the haunts of society. These, however, were rather the
PEKIOD.] CHARLES ROBERT MATURIN. 455
matter of the novelist than of the dramatic poet. The consequence of
the whole was a very considerable diminution of effectual power, though
none of intellectual skill, in the tragedies with which he endeavoured
rather too hastily to follow up his fortune. Had his efforts been more
deliberate and spontaneous, we do not doubt that his success would
have borne some fair proportion to his great powers, which after the
first great effort were never fairly tested. The tragedies which followed
Bertram were " Manuel" and " Fredolpho." A fourth, of far more pro-
mise, and indicating more of pure poetic imagination than we had as-
cribed to the author, was never published, or (we believe) completed,
and still remains in manuscript.
Of Mr. Maturin's novels we cannot now speak, unless from very
inadequate recollection. They largely display all his peculiar genius,
his romantic taste, his dramatic talent, and his command of the use of
grouping and costume. By the common crowd of novel readers they
were not truly appreciated ; and perhaps the opinions commonly ex-
pressed in educated circles are not to be regarded so much as speaking
the actual interest with which the tale is read, as the language of the
theory held by the speaker, or which may prevail at the moment.
In the height of his success, Mr. Maturiu deeply felt that he was
not in his true position. His talent arid the admiration of his circle,
as well as the circumstances in which he was placed, were to him as
the current of a mighty stream, — a fatal necessity from which he had
not the means of escape. He felt a bitter yearning to escape into the
studies and service of his profession. He often so expressed himself;
but he was not believed, because he was not understood. There seldom
indeed has been so little allowance made, but it could not well be other-
wise. There was in his manner somewhat of a forced gaiety, which
concealed a grave, earnest, and anxious mind : — he disdained to con-
ciliate the opinions of the world, though he would gladly be allowed to
" win the wise."
From this temper of mind, a struggle was sooner or later to be ex-
pected : and such was indeed the result. He watched for the occasion,
which could scarcely be long wanting to a man of his abilities. In
1824 he published six controversial sermons, which told with consider-
able effect, and displayed his powers as a pulpit orator, and his exten-
sive reading.
It was not however permitted that the course thus well begun should
be carried to a further issue. His bodily health had been exhausted
by the labour of nerve and mind. A lingering and painful illness set
in, and in a few months conducted him to a premature grave.
His published writings are his novels Montorio, Woman, Melmoth,
the Albigenses, — his tragedies, Bertram, Manuel, and Fredolpho, — a
volume of sermons, and the six controversial discourses. He also con-
tributed some very clever articles to the periodicals.
456 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
C. 9Biriitrn0mf, Ji.Ji., BisTjop oC
BORN 1792— DIED 1842.
THE late Bishop Dickenson was the son of a Cumberland gentleman,
who had settled in the city of Cork. He was born in 1792. In his
early years he is mentioned by his biographer* to have been remarkable
for his docility and the gentleness and amiability of his disposition.
He early evinced also a marked talent for computation. He was
sent to school to Mr. Finney, and was a favourite both with his master
and school-fellows. He was afterwards changed to other schools, in all
of which he became distinguished both for ability, diligence, and good
conduct.
In 1810 he entered college as a pensioner under Dr. Meredith. It
may be received as a proof of the capacity he showed at this time, that
his tutor strongly recommended him to study for the bar, as the high
road to fame and fortune. He however already felt the influence of a
better election, and fixed his mind on the sacred calling.
In college his talent and industry continued to meet its due reward,
N — although, as his biographer observes, " he was no longer to possess the
same monopoly of honours to which he had been accustomed." It will
be sufficient explanation to say, that Hercules Graves and J. T. O'Brien t
were in the class. Magee, then professor of mathematics, struck with
his mathematical talent, persuaded him to " pass from the class in which
he then was to attend his lectures in a higher class."
He obtained a scholarship in 1813. He had been easily set down
as a fellowship man, by public opinion in college : and such was the
course he had selected for himself. But with the strong good sense,
which formed no small portion of his character, he had resolved not
to sit until he should feel that he had taken reasonable time and
pains to ensure success. His friends thought otherwise, — they placed
a reliance on his talents, which led them to urge a trial which must, in
most cases, be considered premature. He yielded to their pressing in-
stances ; and with a doubtful mind, and after considerable oscillation of
purpose, went into the hall at the fellowship examinations of 1817.
Notwithstanding these disadvantages, his answering was such as to be
considered in a high degree promising. A first sitting, as Mr. West
observes, is mostly considered experimental. Where it is not so, there
is either very extraordinary ability, or, as often occurs, long previous
preparation : and we should suppose that decided success was not ex-
pected to be the result of Dickenson's first trial. He was the junior
candidate : and he had against him Gannon, who had already sat three
times, Purdon, Hiricks, and Phelan, all considerably his seniors, and
well known for attainment and ability long before his bachelor's degree,
and, indeed, some of them before his entrance. Notwithstanding these
disadvantages, he came off with distinction, and with the praise of
Brinkley — itself no light honour.
* The Rev. John West, D.D., vicar of St. Anne's, Dublin, Chaplain to the
Archbishop of Dublin.
f Since Bishop of Ossory.
PERIOD.] C. DICKEXSON. 457
It may be viewed as a matter of course that more decided success
must have followed in the usual course. But before the next fellowship
examination, two years afterwards, he had formed an attachment and
entered into an engagement which was not consistent with a further
prosecution of a purpose of which years of celibacy was one of the con-
sequent conditions. His affections had become engaged to Miss Russel,
sister to archdeacon Russel, his friend and class-fellow.
In consequence of this incident he entered into holy orders, and took
charge of the curacy of Castleknock, near Dublin, for one year. In
the following year he obtained the assistant chaplaincy of the Magdalene
Asylum in Leeson-street ; and in the next, on the resignation of the
Rev. James Dunne, he filled his place of chaplain.
In 1820 his marriage took place. In 1821 he resigned the chap-
laincy of the asylum, and soon after received and accepted an offer of
that of the Female Orphan House.
As Dr. Dickenson has been once or twice assailed on the score of
subserviency, (we never could see why,) it is important to observe,
what otherwise we should not consider necessary to bring into prominent
notice, that his adherence to his own views of what was right, " restrained
him from affording his friend, the archbishop of Dublin [Dr. Magee],
that degree of co-operation which his grace, naturally enough, expected
from one whom he had distinguished by such friendly advances." No
one, who is aware of the extent of archbishop Magee's regard for
Dickenson, can entertain any doubt that his preferment must have
been immediate on the translation of that able prelate to the see of
Dublin. There was indeed another curious cause for the same erro-
neous impression, — the very remarkable amenity of Dr. Dickenson's
temper, countenance, and deportment, and his extreme readiness to enter
into the interests even of those with whom he had but slight acquaint-
ance, were little to be reconciled with the selfish and suspicious ways
of worldly men, and could not fail to receive harsh interpretations
whenever he should become the subject of party discussion. Censure,
when it assails the character, finds virtues even more ready than vices
for its attack : they are more openly borne, and the shaft is less likely to
recoil. There was indeed, and this we are enabled to affirm on personal
experience, no change in Dr. Dickenson's professions of opinion in later
times. It was at a period antecedent to the earliest of the incidents
here referred to, that we can well recollect to have been party to dis-
cussions at the apartments of a common friend in which, on more than
once occasion, the main principles of that line of opinion and pub-
lic conduct with which he was afterwards identified, were broadly
stated and discussed. Somewhat, indeed, he may have altered in the
usual course of human experience, but certainly nothing that could
change the general line of conduct or party involved in the views he
then maintained.
As Mr. Dickenson's increasing family required some addition to his
resources, he supplied the demand by taking pupils, a step facilitated
by his high college reputation. Of the manner in which he acquitted
himself of the duty thus undertaken, there is the best testimony in the
frequent acknowledgments of those who were so fortunate as to have
received that advantage.
458 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
We must now pass to the later period when the change of men and
manners, brought the party into office whose general views coincided with
those of Mr. Dickenson : we mean the Whig party. By a prelate of
Whig connexions, and mainly entertaining the political opinions of that
great party, the worth and ability of a man like Dr. Dickenson could
not be passed over ; — or, indeed, considering the actual dearth of talents
of the higher order to be found among the members of any profession,
(however constituted otherwise,) such a man, so shrewd, clear, prompt,
and free from influences, could not fail to be an acquisition of the first
order, to a prelate whose public spirit and ability necessarily involved
him in a wide and troublesome range of concerns. Archbishop Whate-
ley, whose highly endowed mind soon pervaded every institution con-
nected with his station and the church, quickly perceived the various
moral and intellectual qualifications of Mr. Dickenson, and appointed
him to the place of his assistant chaplain. The principal chaplaincy
was at this time occupied by Dr. Hinds of Oxford, a gentleman well
known to the literary public by some able, interesting and useful
writings;* and who had held the place of vice-principal to the arch-
bishop when he was principal of St. Alban's Hall in Oxford.
On the retirement of Dr. Hinds, (from ill health,) in 1833, Mr.
Dickenson became principal domestic chaplain and secretary to the
archbishop in his place. For such a station he was eminently fitted; —
though free from all taint of servility, and superior to the slightest
abandonment of principle, he was, within the line of duty, gentle, grate-
ful, and prompt to serve ; and in his service there was a union of cor-
diality, frankness, and good sense, that must have elicited confidence,
and prevented the mistakes and misunderstandings which are so apt to
break in upon the confidences of the worldly.
In this honourable station it will be easily recollected, by the nu-
merous persons with whom it was officially his business to communicate,
with what ready kindness, and how very efficiently, he entered into
their feelings and interests, and with what entire absence of assumption.
.Indeed, as we have already more than hinted, his readiness to oblige
had the effect of causing some shrewd worldly minded persons to doubt
his sincerity ; — a singularly absurd suspicion, not only from the total
want of grounds, but from the fallacy of the application : strong profes-
sions of kindness are often deserving of distrust, but Dickenson's kind-
ness was ever the ready act. The same unworthy construction was
applied to the overflowing good nature of Charles Wolfe in his college
days, — because it often misled very insignificant persons to imagine
themselves his most particular friends. In Dickenson there was much
of the same cordial nature ; and what was more, it was irresistibly
stamped on his countenance. But we ought to qualify this comparison,
by adding, that in Dickenson there was a tact and shrewdness of percep-
tion which greatly modified and limited the operation of this quality.
In Wolfe it was qualified by the very remarkable simplicity of his na-
ture. It is indeed the common inconvenience arising from kindliness
* " Rise and Early Progress of Christianity;" " The Three Temples of the
True and Living God;" "An Inquiry into the Proofs, Nature, and Extent of
Inspiration, and into the Authority of the Scriptures;" "Scripture, and the
Authorized Version of Scripture."
PEIUOD.] C. DICKENSON. 450
when insufficiently held under control, that it suggests fallacious claims,
and in the result provokes this common slander from the unworthy or
unreflecting.
In the same year, on the death of the Rev. Lord Harberton, Mr.
Dickenson was preferred to the rectory of St. Anne's parish, Dublin.
From this period we shall not follow the details of his history. To do so,
we should have to discuss public questions from which it is our earnest
wish to abstain ; and which, even if we did not entertain such a wish,
it is no part of the object of this work to enter upon. As Mr. West has
truly observed, the occurrences in which the subject of our memoir was
concerned as an actor during many following years, involve the history
of the archbishop himself during the same time. And while we very
sincerely profess the greatest respect, esteem, and regard for the arch-
bishop, we are happy to add, that fortunately for the large circle to
which he is an ornament, and for the republic of letters at large, to
which his services have been eminently valuable, his name is not yet
within the scroll of departed greatness.
The particulars of Dr. Dickenson's writings, on the various public
questions in which he is known to have taken an active and effective
part, are detailed by Dr. West in a full and satisfactory manner.
His connexion with the archbishop, brought him much into com-
munication with the members of the government, on whom his charac-
ter and qualifications made but their natural and proper impression,
when they obtained for him the respect and good opinion of those
whose favour was at the time the way to promotion. The public
was not (and never could have been) prepared for a step of prefer-
ment so advanced, as the bishopric of Meath. But it may be clearly
seen that, supposing no objection from differences of opinion, there
was no one more likely to be selected by the government then in
power : knowing him as it did by constant intercourse, approving his
qualifications of no inferior value, his moral worth, his good sense, his
administrative talents. The Tory party it is known was rich in
first-rate men,* but there was, in effect, no one on whom the choice of
a Whig government could then be supposed likely to fall, whose real
claims were not far inferior to his. On the death of Alexander, bishop
of Meath, Dr. Dickenson was appointed to fill his place. His own
feeling previous to this event is expressed in a private letter to a sister
at Kinsale. " It is gossiped, however, among the Castle people, that
I am to be the person. I do not myself think it, and I am perfectly
calm about it. It is an office I should fear to wish for ; and I am sure
the matter will be controlled by the highest wisdom. Many are put-
ting forth political interest to secure the appointment, and I am putting
forth nothing at all.t My course has been adopted without any refer-
* It is the disgrace of this now broken party, to have almost uniformly shewn
a disregard for talent, so far as neglect was practicable, and this is one great cause
of their decay ; other causes we have already noticed. The Whigs have acted
more wisely, and it is no mean portion of their strength.
f Dr. West has appended a note to this sentence, which we cannot in fairness
omit. "It was most erroneously supposed by many, that the archbishop had
(as a matter of course), used his influence with the government to obtain the
bishopric for his chaplain. Such a supposition, however, implied a total ignor-
ance of his Grace's high principle in respect of such matters ; as; it has always
4 GO ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Sixril
ence to my own advancement, and it shall not be changed either by
being appointed or overlooked."
In April 1841, he took up his residence at Ardbraccan, and began to
make acquaintance with the clergy, and to acquire information upon
the state of the diocese.
In the midst of preparations and arrangements, which indicated the
exertive course he had laid down for his future conduct, and while
engaged in the preparation of a charge, he was seized with a feverish
cold. This at first seemed to offer no ground for alarm, and in a few
days was thought to have subsided. A sudden reappearance of the
symptoms, however, ensued with so much violence that two eminent
physicians were called in ; the case was pronounced to be typhus fever,
and in five days he departed this life, in his 50th year.
BORN 1748— DIED 1823.
THIS learned prelate was born in the county of Longford. His family
was of the Church of Rome, and together with a brother, he was in-
tended for that Church. With this view, he repaired to study at St.
Omer's, but while there, was led to a renunciation of the creed of
Rome, and in consequence, sought for, and obtained ordination in the
English Church. He sailed with Lord Howe as chaplain to the fleet,
in the commencement of the American war. In 1782 he returned to
Ireland as private secretary to the Duke of Portland ; from his patron
he obtained two valuable benefices in England. After which he was
appointed chaplain to Earl Fitzwilliam, when he was Lord-lieutenant
of Ireland. This nobleman promoted him to the See of Ossory.
Though we have neither space nor matter to trace the particulars of
such a course, it must be apparent from the mere facts, that there was
somewhat extraordinary in the character of the person who was thus
favoured by men of rank and high station, men too, as will be recol-
lected, eminent themselves for abilities and knowledge of mankind. So
indeed it was; O'Beirne was a distinguished member of the same bril-
liant circle of which we have already had to notice so many first-rate
men. He bore an active and respectable part in the polite literature
of their day : a very small literature, we grant, but marked by the
high powers of the men to whom it served as a recreation. There was
then one of those great periodical fits of depression, which so constantly
follows a great exaltation of the mind's productive powers, the day
of Johnson and Goldsmith, themselves lights from the decline of a
brighter day, was passed, and the ideas of the age had been absorbed
in produce. A generation of scholars and literary dilettanti followed,
but with talents drawn forth and sharpened by the strife and collision
of political ferment. There was among these a constant fire of jeu
d'esprits, ballads, epigrams, imitations of Horace, and copies of verse,
been with him a point of conscientious scruple, never to offer himself as a debtor
to any government, by asking favours either for himself or for his friends." Biog
Sketch.
PERIOD.] JOHN THOMAS TROY. 461
kept up by Bushe, Ogle, Langrislie, Ned Lysaght, &c., &c., the wits of
their day. Among these O'Beirne was not the least. He was a fine
Latinist, and a copy of verses in that language written by him, is
among the best on the death of Burke we can recollect ; it was no less
beautiful in an English dress from the hand of Bushe.
On the death of Dr. Maxwell, bishop O'Beirne was translated to the
See of Meath.
It has been mentioned, and we believe truly, that bishop O'Beirne's
brother became also a bishop in the Church of Rome.
The bishop died in 1823. He was the author of numerous publica-
tions, both professional and literary.
Cfjomas
DIED 182.3.
DR. Troy, the titular archbishop of Dublin, through one of the most
eventful periods of Irish history, was born at Porterstown in the county
of Dublin ; he was early designed for the church, and at fifteen went
to Rome for the usual studies. Having assumed the Dominican habit,
he gradually rose till he became rector of St. Clement's parish in Rome.
In 1776 he was sent over by the Pope as bishop of Ossory.
On arriving at Kilkenny, his first act was the revival of " the re-
ligious conferences on cases of conscience, which had," writes Mr. Dai-
ton, " been wisely prescribed by the statutes of the Church, but from
necessity had been discontinued for some years ;" among the arrange-
ments which he made for this purpose, he prescribed that " in order to
elucidate and explain such subjects, the truth should be sought from
the holy Scriptures, the decrees of the Popes, the councils, and the con-
stant and general practice of the Church."
In 1779 the wisdom and right-minded patriotism of Dr. Troy was
clearly and honourably shewn by the decided and uncompromising
vigour of his proceedings against the White boys, against whom he
first issued spirited circulars, which were followed by excommunica-
tion. The same judicious and beneficent course was followed up in
1781, in consequence of these deluded men having become very trouble-
some in his diocese, in which, as Mr. Dalton explains, the numerous
coal mines afforded concealments. On this occasion his judicious and
spirited conduct drew forth the thanks of government.
Even in the management of the internal concerns of religion in his
church, this prelate manifested a wise and prudent spirit. He probably
felt and deplored the wide-spread spirit of infidelity which, commencing
on the continent, was rapidly establishing itself in the British dominions.
Dr. Troy was deeply sensible of the truth so apt to be overlooked by
Christians, that infidelity, the taint of human nature, is favoured by a
predisposition, and is consequently the most contagious of epidemics.
To meet this invading evil, he directed the discussion of the most pro-
minent deistical writers, at the conferences of his clergy.
In this year (1786) he also prohibited the patrons, which, "although,"
writes Mr. Dalton, " they originated in the piety of the faithful," were
462 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
become at the time rather conducive to riot and intemperance, and the
exercise of the vices and crimes to which the peasantry of that barbar-
ous period were addicted. At the end of the year, Dr. Troy was trans-
lated to Dublin.
In the end of the following year he issued pastoral directions, in
which he prohibited "midnight masses," and enjoined several other wise
regulations for the enforcement of order, and the preservation of sanc-
tity. Of these, the economy of space, now forced upon us, prohibits
the particular details ; they were all unequivocally indicative of the
purest intentions, and many were most happily timed for public utility.
The following statement we transcribe from Mr. Dalton. "On the 15th
of May, 1792, he and the clergy of his diocese signed a declaration,
solemnly disavowing, and condemning as wicked and impious, the
opinions, that princes excommunicated by the Pope and council, or by
any ecclesiastical authority whatsoever, might be thereupon deposed or
murdered ; that any ecclesiastical power could dissolve subjects from
their allegiance ; that it is lawful to murder and injure any person
under the pretence of his being a heretic ; that an act in itself unjust,
immoral, or wicked, can be justified under pretence of being done for
the good of the church or in obedience to any ecclesiastical power; that
no faith is to be kept with heretics, or that the Pope has, or ought to
have any temporal or civil jurisdiction within this realm," <fec. To this
plenary renunciation of all the grounds on which any civil disabilities
could be in principle maintained, Mr. Dalton adds these words, "in con-
sequence of this disavowal of opinions, most falsely, but too prevalently
attributed to Catholics :" on which we beg to offer some explanation.
That there were strong grounds in fact, for imputing those opinions to
the members of the Roman Church, in different times and places, is
matter of history, on which no doubt rests : that such were their
opinions at that period, and in Ireland, is a different question ; and we,
for our part, when there are no clear indications to the contrary, are
inclined to make the most lenient admission ; we do not, for instance,
in the present time, believe that such atrocious and truly heretical,
because truly unscriptural and unchristian, tenets are held either by the
clergy or laity of the Irish branch of that church. But we make this
statement only to point out that the actual sense in which such doc-
trines were ascribed, was somewhat different from the sense implied in
the usual statements on the subject. It was to the church as a church;
to its system of institutions, its creed, its canons, and rules of faith and
discipline, however termed, that these terrible and denouncing dogmas
were imputed. There was a time when they had an adamantine force;
they were not even then generally used as ordinary instruments, but
lay in reserve for occasions. Now this was the ground of apprehension : •
it never was believed that the whole complex of church doctrines
and constitutions, shaped the feelings or formed the knowledge of the
laity, or that as members of society they were not governed by the
ordinary affections of mankind ; but it was assumed that, if occasion
demanded, if there should be disturbances, if the policy of the Roman
cabinet in any way required the use of such weapons, they lay ready ;
it was but to issue them to minds prepared to receive them ; minds of
which the implicit piety could be made to work with the angry pas-
PERIOD.] THOMAS ELRINGTON. 463
sious, — minds so very ignorant and credulous, that they could be
plunged from the ordinary indifference even of human nature into the
depths of superstitious terror. And it is not to be denied that such
influences were often rendered available for merely political uses.
The times have widely altered ; the progress of civilization has ad-
vanced with a force still more absolute than the church : and though
the institutions are the same, their influences are changed. The mind
of the world has broken away from them, and the creed of the last
council is not now that even of the very priesthood of the papal
Church. Practically they have undergone a vast, though silent reform.
The absurdities condemned by Dr. Troy, have now no place in day-
light, and we are firmly convinced that even their potential efficacy is
gone. But why do we enter into these comments ? Because we can-
not suffer a wrongful imputation to rest upon the memory of our
fathers. It is the fault of Irish historians to appeal to the feelings of
the present, for reproaches against the past, which if fairly tested by
the documentary records, of which abundance remain, would be seen to
have no application.
From the uniform tenor of Dr. Troy's conduct, as recorded by Mr.
Dalton, we would infer him to be a man of eminent practical wisdom,
of high principle, and of very great courage, and considering him with
regard to his church and office, as one who was rather in advance of
his time. In 1798 he denounced those who should rise in arms against
government, in consequence of which his life was menaced by a con-
spiracy.
On the llth May, 1823, he departed this life; leaving an eminent
example to the prelates of his church of what they ought to be.
of
BORN 1760— DIED 1835.
THOMAS Elrington, successively Fellow and Provost of Trinity college,
and bishop of Ferns, was born near Dublin in 1760. The accounts of
his early life are few : they afford, however, one more remarkable
addition to the instances which we have had already to offer of the
effect of maternal care, when accompanied by worth, piety, and sound
sense. He was an only child, and from an early age, we are informed,
his mother devoted herself wholly to his education ; a task for which
she was qualified by virtues and attainments not usual in her time.
At an early age, the desire of his youth was to go to sea ; this wish
was counteracted by affection for his widowed mother. But the dis-
position remained and continued to manifest itself through life in a
remarkable interest for everything connected with maritime affairs.
The tendency is deserving of remark; in him it was perhaps indicative
of the quality of his vigorous and alert understanding, and the firm and
manly texture of his whole mind, qualities exemplified in his writings
and conduct.
At the early age of fourteen he entered college under the Rev. Dr.
Drought. His progress there was even to an unusual degree honoured
464 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SiXTH
by collegiate successes. It will be proof enough of this to mention,
that, for his answering in the most important and difficult branch of
science, then taught in college, under the title Natural Philosophy, he
obtained an optime; a judgment which has been given but three times
from the foundation ; and which has been guarded with so much vigi-
lance against abuse, that the examiner who should bestow it, would be
probably obliged to vindicate its justice before the board ; a result
which has occurred in one at least of the known instances.* Dr.
Elrington could not have long passed his sixteenth year when he ob-
tained this signal mark of eminent attainment. To confirm the infer-
ence which seems to result from such a proof of superior mathematical
talent, when at the age of twenty he sat for fellowship, his success was
rendered memorable by a distinction still more rare; an honour, indeed,
which may be termed singular, having been the* only person who, it is
believed, ever answered every question in mathematics.
There seems indeed to be ample proof of far more than ordinary
adaptation for mathematical attainment, in the structure of his mind.
A sound and discriminative simplicity and clearness of method must
have been the result of the most lucid apprehension of the relations of
ideas ; his logical powers seem to have been of the most vigorous
kind. Prompt to seize on the true principle, or application of a
principle, his reason almost intuitively pursued the shortest and
simplest course to a result, and the same clear sagacity which sim-
plified his previous studies, and imparted a mastery in answering,
rarely attainable, qualified him for a task at that time much called for.
Every one who has happened to have toiled through Tacquet 01
any of those older works on the elements of geometry then in the
hands of mathematical students, must have a recollection of theL
cumbrous, and sometimes perplexed methods of demonstration, whicl
made an important and interesting part of education tedious and need-
lessly difficult. To give clear, orderly, and unembarrassed demonstra-
tions of the first six books of Euclid amid the heavy and responsible
avocations of a junior fellow of that period, was no light attempt. Dr.
Elririgton's edition published for the use of the university, has been
justly termed " a model of elementary demonstration."
In 1792 he engaged in a controversy on the subject of a charge
put forward by Dr. Troy. We cannot here enter upon this subject, but
may state the results from a brief memoir in our possession. " This
controversy, carried on at intervals, was terminated in 1804 by a
pamphlet, under the signature S. N., so vigorous and decisive, that,
as it has since appeared, a consultation was held, whether or not Dr.
Clinch should reply, and the Right Hon. Henry Grattan recommended
that the controversy should be dropped, an advice which was followed."
In 1795 Mr. Elrington became a senior fellow, being then but in hia
thirty-fifth year ; and in the same year was appointed to the Erasmus
Smith's professorship of mathematics, — having been Donegal lecturer
from 1791. In 1794 he was appointed Donnellan lecturer, and de-
livered a series of lectures on miracles, of the merits of which we can
* That of the late Mr. North, who obtained it for his answering in astronomy.
The third instance is that of Sir W. Hampton, M. R. I. A.
piii.L. *AJ3
only speak in the form of an extract which mention* them a* a
which was never known as its merits deterred, the author «//t having
taken any steps to brin - it into nor overcome the dMftdra*-
faces which invariably attend a book published in
In 1799, when Dr. Young was preferred to the Bee ef Ckwfert, he
was appointed as his successor in the cb-a . ral Fttewpty
was a tribute to claims of unquestionable superiority in a branch in whidk
be had already, it may be recollected, won unprecedented honour Hot
the reputation of Dr. Elrington was not sufficient to damp the eoorage
of two men £ar down on the list of juniors, but since, both distinguished
far soranssing attainments in physical science. These
, which exi
the right of competition, which existed by a law that had been
to fen into long disuse. Bat notwithstanding this opposrtkw,
and the arduous trial of strength which followed, Dr. K
by superior answering, what had been already conceded to hit
In 1806 he resigned his fellowship for the living of Ardtrea, in
dioujBL of Anaash. There he continued for fonr yean,
he WM the affection and respect of every dase of his parishioners by
that mdnct which might be anticipated from a sound practical intel-
ligence, combined with tenacious rectitude, and a deep sense of doty;
and it was afterwards mentioned by one of the Fellows, that he had
visited the parish many yean after, " and had found the memory of
their lored pastor still fresh among the people."
Daring this period Dr. Ellington was by no means occupied in pav-
ing the way to his promotion. The course he took was of that deter-
mined resistance to the insidious and criminal proceedings by which
the party then in power were beginning to undermine the church as
wcH as the cor. -land, and to prepare the work of rain,
which is now approaching its completion, so »r as it may be permitted.
The atrocious combination against the Irish clergy met in him one «f
its ablest opponents: "He expose/. lions
thai making to deprive tl forward in
:n»e colour? the character of Dr. A
:he Roman Catholic hierarchy in Iremnd; bu ,'U he
tho church he belon^l from t!
lumnicaofWar
ti«« which, in the opinion of Or. , higotod chutrhmnn — WM
^?\ranloil by that pastoral office whose ekim to ftpoitolttftl
ceesMB he had so ably maint.i.
:he promotion of Dr. Hall to tho soo of Ort>mor<sh«
.rinsrton a^ the person nio>t (ju:»liti(>,l to iill lus pl.-i.v :»• i
rh»mr \ «TM >p.v:.,l that tlu
-.ich rojxirt- -o much n.
• suspicion of th»» intojfrit \
ouM bo notvlloss to notu,
\ P) l:itioM. I
.-.Knit to publish his oontrovr
Is that tho publication MHI>( !><> likd\ i,< mtoiloro «ul\ !
vdindy :»,lvi>e»l not to piil
ringtosl fajfjOt^l tho prop* m.l puMi
466 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [Sixxa
risk of his promotion. But the Duke of Richmond stood high above
the petty and despicable spirit of truckling and tyrannizing — the faith-
less, time-serving, and chicaning policy which has taken possession of
more recent times. He could not understand that the firm champion
of the church was not the fittest president for the church's great semi-
nary, the Protestant university of Dublin. " Through the whole trans-
action," writes our principal authority, "the Duke appeared only anxious
to find out the fittest person, and on no occasion was disinterested firm-
ness ever exhibited more strongly than by the object of his choice."
We trust we shall not witness the day when the university of Dublin
shall want friends to act towards her in the same high spirit, and mem-
bers to exercise the same uncompromising decision. Convinced as we
are, from no slight study of the history of human events, that her pros-
perity both of circumstance, intellectual advance, and growing reputation,
is due to the fidelity and truth of her adherence to the church, in the
firm integrity of its scriptural faith, and its corresponding institutions; and
to that providential protection which never ceases to overrule for good
all that appertains to that faith, which has been and will be the main
purpose of God's government from the beginning to the end. Con-
vinced as we are of this great demonstrable truth, we look with an
anxious — but not mistrustful — eye on the university in this day of
trial, when her degradation and ruin are contemplated by those who
are themselves willing to sell their allegiance ; who, without under-
standing either, believe the maxims of party rather than the declara-
tions of God, and whose policy it is to proceed to their unprincipled
ends by false pretences and treacherous approaches. Earnestly do we
trust that the university will not suffer itself to be betrayed into the
first unguarded step that would open the way for those whose policy
it is to confound distinctions and break down the barriers opposed to a
sea of anarchy and infidelity. We are indeed aware of the formidable
changes and workings by which the acts of government have been in
some degree overruled, and their better sense controlled. But the ex-
cuse does not reach to the full measure of their faults and errors, largely
resulting from rashness, ignorant assumption, ready credulity, and an
entire misapprehension of the indications of society; from the creation of
emergencies by legislating for emergencies which had no existence, and
from fixing a vicious polity to meet dangers which were transitory. Al-
ready indeed these dangers are passing away. While weak and ignorant
legislators are in their weakness, and still more in their blindness, terrified
into letting fall every defence, and conceding every right to popular
menaces, the spirit of the people itself is changing. Unconciliated by
the wanton compromises which they have long traced to their true
source, and justly distrusting the honesty of that mountebank legisla-
tion, they are fast learning to discriminate the truth and justice of those
who never condescended to flatter, but never ceased to serve them. The
enemies of the church, and of the university, have been actuated by their
fears, and have derived their efficient power of evil from the absence of
combined resistance : it is for these reasons, but chiefly the last, that we
would urge a firm and unflinching resistance, not only as right, but as
effectual. It is enough that it is right, — the strong motive and the
PERIOD.] THOMAS ELRINGTON. 467
sure trust of the moment is this : it affords the assurance, that we have
on our side the only strength that cannot faiL
On Dr. Elrington's appointment, he had to encounter formidable dif-
ficulties. A strong effusion of liberalism had found its way into the
university. Within an institution of which it is the very vital prin-
ciple to be ruled by a strict system of subordination, a democratic insti-
tution had grown into maturity : it was a democracy of the most dan-
gerous form, a democracy of young men ; the sons of the best families,
but with all the passions and inexperience of youth. Among such it
involves no reproach to say that popular oratory and highflown popular
notions of liberty and nationalism were likely to have a charm, and the
more recondite wisdom which belongs to deep knowledge and old experi-
ence to be unknown. The spirit of independence, and a strong tendency
to internal faction, had indicated themselves most unequivocally ; and
the historical society was fast acquiring a corporate existence distinct
from the university, and jealously sensitive to its interference. It is
needless to say to any body who is arrived at the years of discretion
that this was not to be permitted. The results were not dependent on
the honour or discretion of the respectable youths who composed that
body, but on the common courses of human nature. All who can re-
member the angry emotions which ran so high among them, the factious
temper of their after-debates, and the parties to which they gave rise,
will now admit that this is no vague theorizing. But the society had
a popularity both in town and college, — it had also advantages of a na-
ture to be generally recognised, and more especially in Ireland, where
oratorical talent has been rated at least at its value. It was a disagree-
able task to cope with the strong impulse, the esprit de corps and popu-
lar sense which was sure to be offended and noisy. There could be no
doubt that the charge of bigotry, illiberality, and the whole vocabulary
which supplies the want of meaning among the ignorant or the angry,
would be showered without stint or discretion. The Provost adopted
a moderate course, — he was satisfied to impose conditions exclusively
directed against the excesses and hurtful tendencies that had begun to
appear ; the principle of the reform which he proposed, was simply the
reduction of the society to its proper and ostensible object, that of prac-
tice and improvement in speaking and composition, by depriving it of
its separate character of a spurious corporation. But like every asso-
ciation which acquires an integral unity of character — and the more
when animated by the ardour of young men — the society had a pride
to be hurt ; it was not a debating school, but a class (and in this lay the
root of the evil), it considered the restrictions not with respect to their
fitness or expediency as affecting their objects well or ill, but as an in-
sult. It was not their interests, but their honour, that was felt to be
affected ; they met, and in the enthusiasm of a resentful feeling, they
voted themselves out of existence. We for our part have always deeply
regretted the occurrence, for we have no doubt concerning the great
advantage of such a society, but even then we had no doubt in the
opinion that there was in their constitution an inherent vice, inconsis-
tent with their prolonged existence. And we must observe that the
members of the university have now confirmed the judgment of Dr.
Elrington, by the remarkably judicious precautions which they have
4G8 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
used in the re-establishment of the Historical Society. We are anxious
to avoid needless digressions ; but we feel bound to say, that the young
gentlemen who took upon them to dissolve the former society, satisfied
the spleen of a moment at the expense of their successors in the univer-
sity for several generations, and have left the present society a warning
which it will be well for it to keep in view.*
The Provost became the object of the most violent animosity, in-
creased by the circumstances which had confounded a question of aca-
demic discipline with the views of a great popular faction. He repressed
the contentions and turbulent workings which had been propagated in
the university, and of which experience had taught him fully to under-
stand the dangers.
The government of the university, thus encumbered with difficulties
little to have been anticipated within the walls of an institution devoted
to intellectual culture and the interests of science, though involving far
more than ordinary care and circumspection, was not yet enough to
engross the active mind of the Provost : but remarkable as it may
appear, ,he was the acting manager of almost every public board in
Dublin.
It was at the time, when the English government, pressed from with-
out by the combination of liberalism, infidelity, bigotry, and the most
infatuated self-betraying views of sordid self-interest ; and forgetful of
its trust, began seriously to contemplate the abandonment of the Irish
Church, as a " sop to Cerberus," a bribe to the triple-headed monster,
within whose jaws its cowardice and blindness were courting the wrath
to come. The vigorous and straightforward mind of the Provost anti-
cipated the consequences since too fully known to all ; and his earnest
public spirit could not rest passive under such anticipations. He could
* The deep interest we feel in the wholesome prosperity of the revived Histori-
cal Society prompts us to add our earnest exhortation to its youthful members,
never to forget that the very purpose of their association is inconsistent with the
admission of political feeling, or with the assumption of any competency to decide
on the merits of party. They have one, and but one, immediate object — the only
object admissible — to acquire the first elements of that wisdom and mature experi-
ence by which alone they can be qualified to judge and to pronounce; and the study
of history, and of the enlarged political science it teaches when rightly read, must be
a useless labour, if it is to be anticipated by boys following the opinions and animated
by the feelings of the rabble of parties. If such paltry attainments were to be enough,
there is no reason why the walls of a university should be disturbed by so super-
fluous and noisy an exercitation. The day of oratory is gone by, and public
speaking is by no means an accomplishment of difficult attainment, when the un-
derstanding is stored and the reason disciplined. But it is in the attentive study
of those great questions on which the events of the past have turned, that politi-
cal science worthy of the name is to be acquired. The real elements of this
knowledge are the constant courses of human nature, always the same, however
differently involved in endless combinations of circumstance. It is, or should be,
the great advantage of the historical society, that in the discussion of those ques-
tions, their reason stands yet free from the prejudices of party spirit; and that
they can trace the operation to the result as calmly as if it were a problem in
natural science. The understanding, once tainted by prepossession, has acquired
a vicious principle of construction, which sees all, like the jaundiced eye, of its
prevailing tint, and becomes expert only in finding authority for its mistakes.
There is indeed one great first lesson to be learned, that political science involves
difficulties beyond the reach of a degree of information which would not venture
to presume so far on any other branch of knowledge.
PERIOD.] THOMAS ELRINGTON. 469
not avoid an indignant sense of the paltry quackery which then, an now,
duped itself and tried to dupe others by the shallow and fictitious show
of reason, which depends on the ignorance of some, the connivance of
others, the misstatements in fact and the mistakes in theory. To
the clear normal intellect of Dr. Elrington this mixture of crime and
folly was too apparent and too revolting. The manifestation of a
sense like this in a position of high influence necessarily drew upon
the Provost the hostility of many. They whose want of principle
assumed the specious name and style of liberality, who considered the
voice of the rabble as the voice of God, licentiousness as liberty, and
indifference to all creeds, involving a disbelief of any, freedom of
conscience, could not but regard the sturdy champion of principles and
doctrines as an enemy. Within the university the agitation of the
times had been propagated by the intrigue of a popular canvass, and
the Provost's firm tenacity of principle and order was to be neutralized
by imputations of bigotry : his rejection of liberalism, his predictions
of evil, were most characteristically accounted for, by flippantly refer-
ring them to the narrowness of a mind, most remarkable for the grasping
earnestness with which it took hold of all the questions in which the
welfare of church, or university, or state was involved. All these
questions, then doubtful to all but a few who saw beyond the hour,
have since been resolved by events. There is no event that could occur,
that would not find some class of persons to welcome it ; but there is
no consistent member of the church, or constitutional maintainer of
the rights of person and property, who requires any argument to main-
tain the soundness and comprehensive wisdom of the Provost's doctrine
and discipline. If among the state empirics of the day, there may
happen to arise any sect for curing all the disorders of the body politic
with Holloway's pills, it would be hard to say how they may be received
by the public wisdom; we have indeed no doubt but they must look with
very reasonable slight on their brethren, the conciliators, the economists,
the repealers, the free-trade men, and hoc genus omne : all of whom, they
may truly brand with the charge of narrowness and pedantry ; simply
because they are committing their own reputation, and the interests of
society, on partial applications of broad and complex sciences which they
indeed but partially understand.*
In 1820, on the translation of Dr. Warburton to Cloyne from the
See of Limerick, the Lord-lieutenant, in despite of the determined re-
sistance of the then secretary, nominated the Provost ; a nomination
not less due to his character than to his station. This appointment
was perhaps especially grateful to the Provost's harassed mind and
body, as carrying with it some promise of rest from the sea of troubles
and provocations, which rendered his position and duties the most
troublesome in the kingdom; at a time when they who should have con-
* We trust that a timely lesson may be drawn from the palpable absurdities
now (1846) exhibited in Ireland ; by the gentlemen intrusted with the cum-
brous, inefficient, and ruinous machinery of the Relief commission,. by which the
foundations of civil right and order are more than endangered, to avoid the in-
fliction of a light, temporary, and still problematical evil on a trade which is liable
to numerous vicissitudes, which can endure and recover from much severer
depressions.
470 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [SlXTH
trolled the vessel of the state, had virtually resigned the helm, and
were scudding before the storm ; a description hardly figurative, per-
haps involving their best apology in future times.
The Provost looked for repose, and soon repaired to his diocese.
There he found but a change of laborious duty. On this point, we
cannot do better than quote the language of the Memoir which has
supplied the entire materials of this sketch : — " Never did any city, or
any diocese, want more the superintendence of an active bishop. No
man fitted for such a station had been promoted to that see for upwards
of a century, and the charitable institutions of the city wanted some
guide to direct and animate individual exertion. The bishop remained
but two years at Limerick, and one of these was a year of disturbance,
the other of famine. In the dreadful winter of 1821, his firmness and
intrepidity were of signal advantage; the English military officers
gladly availed themselves of the bishop's advice, when such a panic
had seized the magistracy that, in their application for the Insurrection
Act, they endeavoured to shelter themselves under the protection of a
Round Robin. The bishop soon gave a practical proof of his courage ;
for he set out on a tour of visitation before the disturbances had ter-
minated, lest he might increase the panic in the country by putting off
what had been long officially -announced. In this tour he visited parts
of the united dioceses, where a bishop had not been for sixty years.
In the time of famine, not only his personal exertions, but his purse,
was ever ready to give assistance, with a liberality which considerably
entangled him ; — for now what he studiously concealed may be told —
he expended in the two years at Limerick more than <£3,000 above
the income of his bishopric."
After two years he was translated to Ferns, where his conduct won
the respect and affection of every class. During his remaining life in
this diocese, his admirable combination of strict discipline, with the
kindliest intercourse of hospitality and personal kindness with his
clergy, was such as to conciliate their affection and reverence. And
the same prompt alacrity to promote the best interests of all classes, with
the liberality of his munificence and the wisdom of his counsel, made
him no less the object of regard and respect to all. " How he conducted
himself," writes our chief authority, " may best be proved by the dis-
may which the account of his death occasioned." This event occurred
in consequence of a paralytic stroke, at Liverpool, on the 12th of July,
1835. We regret that we have not room to mention several incidents
illustrative of the character of this eminent prelate."*
* We are compelled by the same consideration to terminate at this point, the
ecclesiastical division of this volume The few eminent names thus omitted are
too recent in the recollection of the Irish public to be yet considered as strictly
historical. Of the Rev. B. W. Mathias, there is a popular Memoir by his son,
interesting in itself, and no less so for the notices it contains of Mr. Walker, the
founder of a sect called after his name. Of that most eminent and worthy clergy-
man, the Rev. Peter Roe of Kilkenny, who, under Providence, was a chosen instru-
ment in the restoration of the Irish church, there is a full Memoir of the deepest
interest, containing the fullest account yet written of the occurrences to which
they relate, — by far the most truly important in the sum of human events. This
volume, from which our entire materials should have been taken, has been written
by a personal friend and fellow-labourer, the Rev. Samuel Madden. Other names
PERIOD.] EDWARD HILL. 471
LITERARY SERIES.*
C.C33.
BORN 1741 — DIED 1830.
THIS distinguished scholar was the son of Thomas Hill, Esq., who re-
sided near Ballyporeeri in the county of Tipperary; he was born on the
14th of May, 1741, and received the first rudiments of his education in
the chapel of Carrigavistele, in that neighbourhood, under the tuition
of the priest of that parish. In memory of which, in the year 1811,
he gave as a present to the chapel a silver chalice and paten, on the
former of which is engraved the following iuscription.
HUNC CALICEM
SACRIS DICATUM,
EDVARDUS HILL MED. DOCTOR,
ET
IN ACAPEMIA DUBLINIENSI
MEDICINE PROFESSOR REGIUS,
SACELLO DE CARRIGAVISTELE.
(LOCI MEMOR UBI PRIMA
OLIM DIDICIT ELEMENTA)
LUBENS DONO DEBIT,
ANNO SALUTIS
MDCCCXI.
After the decease of his father, the family, consisting of his mother,
five sons and two daughters, resided at another property which they
had near Cashel. Edward, who was the eldest, went daily to a classical
there are, somewhat less, but still eminently deserving the biographer's labour,
which we should have gladly noticed, but think it vain to merely enumerate.
The record of the Christian is not for perishable fame, and is needless unless it
can be made available for example.
For one omission we must apologize, — that of the late Rev. Dr. Doyle, the
celebrated titular Bishop of Kildare. Our former publishers had, in some mea-
sure, pledged us to the insertion of his Memoir ; and we can assure that portion of
the public which may blame the omission that, were it possible, it should not
have occurred. Had a Memoir (according to our publisher's general notice) been
transmitted to us, it should have found its place without too minute a scrutiny of
any political differences from the well known views of these volumes. As for
any effort on our own part to supply this want, we have to say, that a fair con-
sideration of the very liberal spirit in which our labours have been generally re-
ceived by the members of his church, would have prompted us, had we not been
restrained by an opposite motive suggested by the very same sense. That able
and eminent man was so wholly identified with public questions — which we could
only state in the character of an antagonist — that, on the fullest consideration, we
have concluded that silence is the more gracious office. With Bishop Doyle we
had the honour and pleasure of an acquaintance during a short interval, and can
bear testimony to his talent, amiability, and many good and pleasing qualities :
he had not at the time attained the celebrity which he afterwards acquired.
* The shortness of this series is, in a great measure, owing to the fact, that the
most important portion of our literature has proceeded from the Irish clergy.
f The editor is indebted to the Rev. Mr. Hill of Carrick-on-Suir for this me-
moir.
472 LITERARY SERIES. [SlXTH
school in that city, but after some time was placed as a boarder in the
diocesan school in Clonmel, under the tuition of the Rev. Mr. Harwood,
where he iinished his school education, and then entered college as a
rsioner, with great credit to himself and his master, in the year 1760.
his undergraduate course he obtained every honour. Premiums at
examinations, a scholarship, native's place, exhibitions, and a moderator-
ship, and would have been a fellow, had he sought it. The beauty of
his penmanship was particularly noticed in college ; and he was re-
quested by the board to write the Duke of Bedford's testimonium, which
he did; and, on the 7th of January 1766, they gave him a present of
five guineas for it. In 1768 he was a medical bachelor, and was ap-
pointed to the professorship of botany in 1773, on the decease of doctor
James Span. That professorship he held until the year 1800, at which
time an act of parliament was passed which prohibited any person hold-
ing two professorships. In 1781, on the recommendation of Dr. Wm.
Clements, vice-provost, he was appointed regius professor of physic,
which he held for the remainder of his life, forty-nine years, and was
incessant in his labours for promoting the interests of the school of
physic in Ireland. No physician of his time paid so much attention to
the diseases of children ; his practice among them was most extensive,
and it is much to be regretted that he did not write on the subject for
the benefit of posterity. At an early period of his life he became pas-
sionately fond of Milton's works, particularly the Paradise Lost ; and
having discovered that numerous alterations and mistakes were made
in every edition of that divine poem, through the carelessness of editors
and printers, he procured a copy of every edition, and determined on
correcting them in an edition to be edited by himself. He began this
laborious task about the year 1769, and made it the business of spare
hours from medical attendance. He compiled a most laborious index
of all the words, a prolegomena, a critical examination of French trans-
lations, and a number of notes of his own, of Newton and others, and
went over this laborious work several times in a most beautiful style
of writing, both as to composition and penmanship, and was engaged
in that work to within a short time before his death ; but unfortunately
his labours have not been brought to press, though many exertions
have been made to attain that object.
In literary attainments Dr. Hill stood unrivalled among his cotem-
poraries, a highly accomplished scholar, in Greek, Latin, French, and
Italian ; in grammatical composition and elegance of expression, no man
could excel him. From extensive reading he was well acquainted with
every subject and science, and possessed a great share of mechanical in-
genuity. He was well skilled in ancient architecture ; and, in 1814,
when the Wellington Testimonial was in contemplation, he designed a
beautiful circular temple, consisting of ten Ionic columns, its basement,
entablature, and dome. The model was elegantly executed, and was
exhibited at the Dublin Society house, with the other models ; it was
greatly admired, but was not chosen by the Wellington committee. He
published three excellent letters on the occasion, which proved him to
be a complete master of the subject of architecture. Had the Testi-
monial been built from that design, in Stephen's Green, the place for
which the doctor intended it, it would have been an elegant ornament
PERIOD.] WHITLEY STOKES. 473
to the city, and a lasting and splendid monument of the deeds of the
great Wellington, and of the doctor's classic taste.
His private virtues were of the highest order, steadfast in friendship,
courteous and kind to all classes of his fellow citizens. He was a con-
stant reader of the Scriptures, particularly the New Testament in the
original tongue, from which he cultivated his natural suavity of dispo-
sition ; — he was a most affectionate husband and father. There are
many pieces which he wrote in the possession of the writer of this ar-
ticle, particularly some on the death of his wife and other members of
his family, which are beautiful in the highest degree, both as to com-
position and elegance of execution. He died on the 31st of October,
in the year 1830, in his eighty-ninth year.
, ^.JT. 3tUg;. $rof. JfleU. ff.tf.lB.
BORN 1763— DIED 1845.
THE late Regius Professor of Physic, Whitley Stokes, was born in 1763,
and received his school education from his father, who had been a Fel-
low of Trinity College, and afterwards master of the endowed school in
Waterford. When about sixteen years of age he entered college, dis-
tinguished himself in the undergraduate course, obtained a scholarship,
and, in 1787, was elected a fellow under peculiar circumstances, which
are illustrative of the constancy and ardour of his mind.
For some days immediately previous to the fellowship examination,
he was so very ill that his friends considered it quite out of the ques-
tion that he should sit. He saw the matter differently, — fixed in pur-
pose, and confident in his strength of preparation, it was not in bodily
suffering or the fainting of the flesh to subdue the courage and ardour
of his spirit. Unable to support his emaciated frame, he was carried
to the hall ; and contrary to the apprehensions of his friends was, after
the usual severe examination, declared the successful candidate.*
A lay fellowship was vacant, — the circumstance was favourable to
his desire to pursue the studies of the medical profession, to which he
was probably inclined by that love of natural knowledge, and of the
investigations connected with natural history, which seems to have been
a prevailing and characteristic disposition of his nature. It is observed
by his biographer in the Dublin University Magazine, and we are
satisfied of the truth of the statement, that his " mind was unweariedly
devoted to whatever pursuit he thought best fitted to ameliorate the
condition of his fellow- men." From numerous occasional allusions in
the correspondence of that period, of which so much has passed through
our hands, we distinctly ascertain the great respect and affection of which
he was the object among the most distinguished of his cotemporaries ;
and thus, by a reflex light, are enabled to catch a view of what he was,
— of the impressions never made but by those possessed of extraordi-
nary talents, virtues, and attractive personal qualifications.
In 1793 he was engaged in his medical studies in Edinburgh, where
* Dublin University Magazine.
474 LITERARY SERIES. [SlXTH
he took his degree in medicine. While there, we are informed by the
biographer already quoted, he laid down the plan adopted for the
botanic garden of the Dublin college, on the model of that in Edin-
burgh.
As neither our space nor materials are sufficient to admit of a de-
tailed memoir, we shall now select a few topics which may best afford a
fair illustration of the more peculiar features of his character. From
one of an expansive and somewhat enthusiastic mind, in whom phi-
lanthropy was an ardent intuition, and whose lofty opinions of man
were the prevailing error of his nature, the redress of wrongs, the re-
sentment against oppression, and the aspirations for freedom, are sure
to find at least a ready ear. And for a temper like that of Dr. Stokes,
the dreams of national elevation, adorned by the eloquence of Grattan's
day, and elevated by the subtle philosophies of D. Alembert or Con-
dorcet, could not fail of their effect. And however erroneous may have
been the views of the Irish patriots of that period, with respect to the
rightful claims and the true interests of their country, it is certain that
no true hearted Irishman, or thoroughly honest man, could sanction the
foul and dishonourable conduct pursued by the English government for
the attainment of the ends of its policy respecting Ireland. Dr. Stokes
ardently shared in the feeling, and espoused the cause, adopted by Cur-
ran, Grattan, and other men the most illustrious of their day. But not,
like these, professionally launched into the stream of public events ; en-
dowed also with a more single and less cautious nature, he entered more
wholly and unreservedly into the spirit of opposition. His favourable
opinion of the United Irishmen was less tempered by suspicion and was
more openly worn. He was a man of large far-reaching views, which
placed him far in advance of his time ; and like all who are so, was,
perhaps, liable in some respects to lose sight of distinctions, excep-
tions, and grounds of allowance and doubt, which are only to be
reached or corrected by practical experience. Like many men of high
and pure minds, he thought too well of his kind, and is likely to have
been deficient in somewhat of that wisdom which men derive from
their own infirmities. We have at the same time a strong limitation to
these remarks ; it is clearly proved by the authentic testimony of that
most acute and able, though unprincipled, man, Wolfe Tone, that, with
all his ardour, the true and consistent philanthropy of Stokes revolted
from the sanguinary atrocities arid dishonest illusions which were diffused
in the projects of that party and most of their founders. Tone, who we
know from himself, to fulfil his views for the freedom of Ireland, would
sink Ireland in a fathomless abyss of blood, reproves the " tenderness
and humanity" which would "recoil from any measures to be attempted
for her emancipation which would end in blood," and adds, with truth,
"that with this, perhaps, extravagant anxiety for the lives of others,
I am sure that in any case which satisfied his conscience, no man would
be more prodigal of his own life than Whitley Stokes." — To which he
subjoins, "I look upon Whitley Stokes as the very best man I have ever
known."
The rebellion broke out, and with it a reign of fear, surmise, and
suspicion. The opinions which were no more than liberal philosophy
in peaceful times, became a matter of scrutiny, when every look and
PERIOD.] WHITLEY STOKES. 475
word had become the subject of question to that most vigilant and
dangerous tyranny which grows out of terror. Though Dr. Stokes,
with the straightforward promptitude of an honest mind, acted as the
occasion required, and immediately joined the college corps, in which he
took a command, it was remembered that he possessed the regard and
high opinion of many conspicuous men, some of whom were suspected,
and some known, to be deeply engaged in the rebellion. With this his
popular views of the prevailing questions afforded matter of suspicion.
In the terror of the hour, and in the narrow scope of party views, it
could not be easily apprehended how a wise and philosophic spirit
could at the same time adhere to the government and reprobate the
line of policy it pursued : the honesty of his nature was weighed against
him. It is indeed highly probable that, in the intercourse of society,
such a man did not sufficiently feel the actual state of the public mind.
It is likely enough that the gossip of surmise, the ambiguous voices
which filled the air of Dublin with falsehood, fear, and treachery, did
not reach the level of his thoughts ; and that when words had begun to
be caught and noted for evil by base minds, Dr. Stokes was not always
on his guard. It was indeed no time for frankness or the language of
toleration, or for a murmur about oppression, or a whisper about liberty.
An angel — unless it was an angel of vengeance — might not have spoken
with impunity to rebuke the government of the day. An inquiry into
the conduct of Dr. Stokes was brought on before the Visitors. We
have that inquiry now on our table ; and deliberately say, that it offers
an honourable record of the integrity and constitutional loyalty of Dr.
Stokes, which tends to set him in the noblest point of view. No ex-
cuse could be found to attaint his loyalty, — so far he was clearly ac-
quitted. But it appeared to the Visitors, that the complexion of his
loyalty was not quite the colour of their own, and they took the unfair
and rash precaution of suspending him for one year. An injury which
had no rational object. If he was loyal it was unnecessary, and if not,
dangerous.
After the Union, under the political agitation of which the public mind
had been thrown into a ferment which entered every home and affected
every breast, a comparative calm succeeded. Dr. Stokes, who had ex-
perienced the vexations arising from the politics of a disorganized social
state, was perhaps glad to withdraw into the tranquil pursuits for which
his mind was so eminently framed. Far too upright to have any com-
munity of sentiment with the party which had been accessary to the
Union ; and too good and wise to mix himself with their wild, ig-
norant, and visionary opponents, — he had been compelled to look on
afflictions which could not be repaired, wrongs not to be avoided, and
arbitrary measures which had become too necessary to be condemned;
but which altogether had brought on a frightful confusion of crime and
penalty. In this fearful state of things he had escaped a penalty of
which the severity would have been aggravated by its injustice. But
he had come off with more than honour : the approbation and sympathy
of the better minds on every side. It stood recorded that he was a
patriot undeluded by the fanaticism arid false theories which duped
and agitated his country, and that he maintained his loyalty in despite
of the indignant disapprobation with which he looked on public men and
476 LITERARY SERIES. [SiXTH
their proceedings. But he has earned a nobler praise in those evil days.
It is now fully understood that one of the main roots of the varied forms
of national disaster which had all their origin in the French Revolution,
was scepticism. Dr. Stokes, among the few who saw the real extent and
effects of this great fundamental disease, witnessed its advances with
the discrimination of a philosopher and the zeal of a Christian. In his
capacity of a tutor in the University, he availed himself of his position
to counteract it by lecturing his pupils on the evidences of the Chris-
tian religion. The effect of this must be easily apprehended. The Pro-
testant University of Dublin was, and in some measure is, the source
of the better portion of the mind of the country ; and an infusion of the
Atheism and Jacobinism which were then tainting the air of civilized
society, would have not only spread, but perpetuated the public dis-
order of the time. And it is needless to add, that a for higher interest
was to be preserved. Not content with acting in his station as a lec-
turer, Dr. Stokes wrote and published a reply to Fame's infamous pam-
phlet, " The Age of Reason," then the means of unmeasured mischief.
Happily the circulation of the reply was, to a great extent, effectual;
and it was then acknowledged to be the ablest and most useful produc-
tion of the same nature, among many which the occasion called forth.
The mind of Dr. Stokes was framed for posterity ; — he was in reality
before his time ; and it is for this reason that he never has had his
fame. The age of invention was yet far off, and he with other able
men, labouring in the obscurity of a comparative isolation, with their
minds fixed upon the future, were preparing the way for a better state
of things. The chemists and mathematicians, the engineers and mechan-
ists,— the profound optics, magnetism and electricity of the University
and Royal Irish Academy, had not then been born : discovery was not
thought of, and science was confined to the round of elementary disci-
pline. Dr. Stokes stood eminent among the very few whose intellect
refused to acquiesce in this state of things. All his studies were directed
to the promotion of a state of improvement, then thought visionary,
but which he lived to see. His physical studies had more immediately
directed his attention to Natural History, and Chemistry as a branch
subservient to that great department of knowledge. And while every
branch of natural knowledge obtained his intelligent attention, the im-
portant bearings and broad scope of geology and mineralogy fixed his
chief inquiries. Having resigned his fellowship, and been appointed, in
1816, to the Professorship of Natural History, he was the first teacher
of those important sciences in the university, in which he gave several
courses of lectures. In these he brought forward many views, then
original, and awakened much interest by the superior refinement of
many of his methods of demonstration, which, however since applied by
others, originated with him. Among these we may offer as an instance,
the curious practical argument of continuity by which he demonstrated
the igneous origin of granite. A long series of changes, from the first
volcanic product in its most elementary state to the final structure, was
traced by him from step to step through gradations so nearly imper-
ceptible, that the student could discover no difference between any two
adjacent specimens of the series laid before him on the Professor's
table : while between the first and last there appeared not the remotest
PERIOD.] WHITLEY STOKES. 477
perceptible similarity. Another interesting instance, not so easily com-
municated to the general reader, was the argument by which he dis-
proved the atmospheric origin of the Aerolite, by ascertaining the fact
of a quantity of motion more considerable than was consistent with such
an origin.
Among the more public benefits conferred on the country by his ex-
ertions in this professional course, we have to mention his active and
effectual promotion of the working of Irish mines. And his able work
on the resources of this country, which the writer of the sketch in the
Dublin Magazine mentions, as " the first attempt made towards the de-
velopment of the wealth and innate powers of the kingdom."
We have not now space to enter suitably into the numerous sugges-
tions of which he was the author for the improvement of the social con-
dition of the peasantry. It must suffice to say, that they extended to
the whole structure of social economy, and offered remedial suggestions
for all its disorders and exigencies : and that the expediency of most
of them have since been recognised or considered as worthy of extensive
investigation. Indeed it would not be easy, if possible, to name a sin-
gle object connected with the moral or physical amelioration of Ireland
in which Dr. Stokes had not a principal hand.
We must hasten to a conclusion, regretting the ample scope of matter
which we are compelled to pass. A Memoir of Dr. Stokes must have
been the history of geology, mineralogy, the practical applications of
science, and of the industrial economy of the kingdom, during his time
— topics not to be dismissed with enumerations and instances. For his
social and domestic manners we must be content to give an extract.
Speaking of the enjoyment of an evening in his society, the writer says,
"He would then give pleasure to all around him by a vivacity and hu-
mour almost boyish. He seemed always to bear in mind the maxim of
Cicero, Ut enim adolescentem in quo senile aliquid ; sic senem in quo
est adolescentis aliquid, probo ; quod qui sequitur, corpore senex esse
poterit, animo nunquam erit. And he was equally ready to enjoy a
jest, or to repeat with the richest humour some witty anecdote, and
seemed always prepared to vary the monotony of philosophic discussion
by wit and pleasantry." The writer goes on to draw the consistent
and well harmonized features of such a portrait. The innocence and
purity, — the rebuke, by grave silence or indignant reproof, of what might-
offend delicacy or rectitude, — the entire absence of enmities, — the gen-
erosity and charity, — all of which complete the character of the Chris-
tian philosopher.
Dr. Stokes was appointed Regius Professor of Physic to the Univer-
sity in 1830, and continued his active attendance to his duties until
very shortly before his death at an advanced age. His intellect burned
clearly to the last ; and long after he had ceased to enter into society,
he continued an object of respect and delight within the home circle.
He died in 1845 at a good old age, having amply fulfilled the
ends for which his intellect was endowed with talent, and his breast
warmed with zeal — the promotion of the interests of his country. With
the writer, in the sketch from which our material has been taken, we
must disclaim the tone of eulogy which this Memoir has unintentionally
assumed ; but we may add, that this is but the consequence of our dis-
478 LITERARY SERIES. [SiXTH PERIOD.
proportioned space. Separated from details which substantiate the
claims of eminent persons, the mere summary becomes reduced to what
is personal, and seems like the affirmations of mere panegyric. Yet
surely the panegyric is deserved, and is not the least among the func-
tions of the biographer.
POSTSCRIPT
Several memoirs, already prepared for this series and partly in type,
have been omitted by the Editor, as their insertion must have swelled
the bulk and increased the expense of the volume. Among these may
be enumerated, Maginn, Banim, Griffin, Mrs. James Gray, &c., &c.,
all of whom, it is to be observed, are yet but recent in the list of departed
genius, and more properly the subjects of some future collection, in
which the results of the present and recent literature of Ireland shall be
summed.
THE END.
FULLAR10N AND CO., PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
NOW PUBLISHING,
BY A. FULLARTON AND CO.,
68, ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN; 16, GREAT PATRICK STREET, BELFAST; 14, THOMOND
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ARRANGEMENTS; AND COMPILED WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE LINES OF
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BY A SERIES OF MAPS AND PLATES ; AND PRESENTING THE RESULTS, IN DETAIL,
OF THE CENSUS OF 1841 AS COMPARED WITH THAT OF 1831.
THE PAELIAMENTABY GAZETTEER OF IRELAND will be completed in Twenty-
four Parts, Price 2s. each, forming three handsome Imperial octavo volumes,
uniform with A. F. & Co.'s GAZETTEERS OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND, Price
£2 14s. in cloth lettered. It will also be published in Ten Parts, at 5s.,
neatly done up in a stiff cover ; or at 6s. in handsome cloth boards lettered.
OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.
" THE Publishers of this GAZETTEER have already completed Works of a similar
character respecting England and Scotland ; and they have been engaged for a con-
siderable period in collecting materials for the Volumes of which we have received
the first part. It is printed on very fine paper, and, when the plan is completed,
this GAZETTEER will form the most handsome Work of the nature connected with
Ireland. The articles are arranged alphabetically, and this first part, commencing
with Abbert, comprehends Athlone, embracing therefore the counties of Antrim
and Armagh, along with several other important localities in this province. The
Work is intended to embody a minute statement of the antiquities, agriculture,
commerce, history, manufactures, scenery, educational and general statistics of the
island. The purpose of the compilers is to comprehend all that information which
falls within the limits to which the contents of Gazetteers were formerly confined ;
and to give an epitome of information not included in former Works, that must
prove interesting to scientific men, political economists, and the friends of education
and religion. The task is certainly heavy, although the materials are abundant ;
but, from the manner in which former Works of the same character have been pro-
duced by the Publishers, we have no hesitation in saying, that the present is likely
to prove the most complete and satisfactory guide to Ireland." — Banner of Ulster,
"This GAZETTEER is adapted to all the new statistical arrangements, and bears
with it the promise of becoming a valuable and popular Work : an abstract of his-
torical facts, county notices, antiquities, scientific and literary institutions, railroads
and canal communications, and every subject possible to insert with advantage to
reference and information. It is well that the objectionable term or quack-word
'Topographical Dictionary' has not been used; for this GAZETTEER combines all in
reality that the bugbear professed to furnish." — Dublin Evening Mail.
" If it fulfil the promise of the Prospectus (and the Publishers appear to have
made all reasonable provision that it shall), — if it be worthy a place beside their
previous publications on England and Wales and Scotland— publications which
have received the commendation of eminent men in the respective countries — (of
the Gazetteer of Scotland the Historian ALISON writes, ' It is the very best Work of
the kind I ever read in any language'), — if it do this and be this, it will only re-
quire to be known in order to insure approval. As far as we can judge, it appears
to be compiled with care. Invariable accuracy is not, of course, to be expected ;
but it seems to be the effort, as it is the interest, of the Publishers to render it free
from blemish in even the minutest points. There is a copious collection of details
respecting the past and present state — the history, the scenery, and the circum-
stances of almost every place of any importance. ' Every parish,' says a Corre-
spondent who has more time for comparison than we have — ' Every parish, how-
ever small or obscure, has an article dedicated to itself, and its exact position is
distinctly defined relatively to the capital of the province within which it is situate
— its population in 1831 and 1841 is stated — the number of houses which it con-
tains, and the amount of its poor-law valuation. Very many of the articles in the
Volume are of exceeding interest ; some of the descriptions of scenery are beauti-
ful; it abounds with lore for the historian, antiquities for the antiquary, and an
ample store of useful and available information. It is adorned with two beautiful
maps, the one of Ireland, and the other of Ulster, both are twenty inches square,
finished in the finest style of art.' " — Cork Advertiser.
" We hail its advent as a token that there is an external demand for information
concerning the country, which, we think, the PARLIAMENTARY GAZETTEER OF IRE-
LAND will abundantly supply." — Dublin Times.
" A great variety of interesting subjects are here dwelt upon ; and a reference to
the Work will show, that ample use has been made of the numerous public official
returns, reports, &c., which have recently been published, bearing upon the points
alluded to. In the body of the Work, great labour seems to have been employed
to accumulate, digest, and arrange information, historical, topographical, statistical,
and so forth. A Work of this kind is sure to be subjected to the severest of all
examinations — the examination, in each of its Parts, by some one or more indi-
viduals personally acquainted with such Part or Parts, and, in general, well qualified
to judge of the accuracy of the compiler. We have, of course, tested the Work in
this way; and we presume we are speaking very favourably of it, when we say, that
its errors appear to be fewer than those of any similar publication which we have
examined. That there are errors is no more than we must expect in a Work of
this sort. If the best qualified man in each locality were to write an account of
his own town or district, he would not be able to avoid mistakes ; and how much
less are we to expect complete accuracy, where a few persons undertake to describe
every locality — every county, parish, town, and so forth, in the kingdom ! Of late,
however, official and other information, of the kind required, has greatly accumu-
lated ; and consequently, careful reading and digesting may effect more, in a short
time, than an army of tourists would of themselves accomplish in years. Accord-
ingly, we find, in this Work, proof of such compilation, and, as the result^ an im-
mense body of details, clearly, and systematically arranged." — Northern Whig.
LIVES
OF
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN,
FROM
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER,
AND EMBODYING A
HISTORY OF IRELAND IN THE LIVES OF IRISHMEN,
KDITED BV
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.RI.A
Author of Letters on the Philosophy of Unbelief, Sic., &c., Ac.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES. AND ENGRAVED BY IMINENT ARTISTS.
VOL. I.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A, FULLARTON AND CO.
1847,
EDINBURGH :
FULLARTON AND CO., PKINTEKS, LEITH WALK.
LIVES
OF
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN,
FROM
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
AND EMBODYING A
HISTORY OF IRELAND IN THE LIVES OF IRISHMEN,
EDITED BY
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.R.I.A.
Au'.bor of Letters on the Philosophy of Unbelief. R.-C . &r., &c.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS,
VOL. II.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A. FULLARTON AND CO,
1847,
EDINBURGH:
Fi.'LLAKTON AND CO., PRINTERS, LEITH WALK.
LIVES
CP
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN,
FKOM
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER,
AND KMBODYING A
HISTORY OF IRELAND IN THE LIVES OF IRISHMEN.
EDITED BY
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.R.I.A.
Author of Letters on the Philosophy of Unbelief, fcc., fee., fac.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED I ORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS.
VOL. III.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A. FULLARTON AND CO,
1847.
EDINBURGH :
FULLARTON AND CO., PRINTERS, LETTH WALK.
LIVES
Of
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IEISHMEN,
FROM
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED "IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER,
AND KMBOUY1NG A
HISTORY OF IRELAND IN THE LIYES OF IRISHMEN,
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.R.I.A,
Author of Letters on the Philosophy of Unbelief, Sec., Sec., &c.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS.
VOL. IV.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A. FULLARTON AND CO,
1847.
EDINBURGH:
FrLLARTON AND CO., IMUNTERS, LMTH WALK.
LIVES
OF
ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN,
FIIOM
THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,
ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDEU.
iNl) EMBODYING
HISTORY OE IRELAND IN THE LIVES OE IRISHMEN,
JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.R.I.A
Author of Tetters on the Philosophy of Unbelief, &e.. &c., fcc.
EMBELLISHED BY A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS.
VOL. V.
DUBLIN, EDINBURGH, AND LONDON:
A. FULLARTON AND CO,
1847.
EDINBURGH :
Fl'LLAUTON AND CO., PRINTERS, LF.ITH WALK.
BINDING SECT. DEC 4- 1967
DA Wills, James (ed.)
916 Lives of illustrious and
W55 distinguished Irishmen
v.6
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